UC-NRLF 


B    3    152    SDD 


SLU-LVL 


URTLAND 

PERKINS 
The  GREAT 


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4®m 


Ellis  Parker  Butlerj 


oAuthor (io/? 

PIGS  \s  PIGS 


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OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY 

r>      or 


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PERKINS  OF  PORTLAND 


PILED    THE    BLUE    MONEY -ORDERS    BESIDE    HIM. 


PERKINS 
PORTL  AN  D 

PERKINS  THE  GREAT 


ELLIS  PARKER  BUTLER 

Jlulbor  of  "  Pigs  Is  Pigs  " 


BOSTON 

HERBERT  B.  TURNER  &  CO. 

1906 


Copyright,  1906 
By  HERBERT  B.  TURNER  &  CO. 

Copyright,  1900 
By  THE   CENTURY  CO. 


Copyright,  1904 
By  LORD  &  THOMAS 


Copyright,  1904 
By  COLVER  PUB.  CO. 


Copyright.  1904 
By  COLLIERS 


Published  October,  1906 


Mental  Press 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


s 

6°l85 


This  book  is 

dedicated  with  continued  affection 

to  the  girl  I  married. 


',**-. r" A  cz  "" 
f'OXDi  ■ 


I 


CONTENTS 

Page 

I.    Mr.  Perkins  of  Portland     .        .        .        .  i 

II.    The  Adventure  of  Mr.  Silas  Boggs    .        .  13 

III.  The  Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt  .  29 

IV.  The  Adventure  of  the  Fifth  Street  Church  50 
V.    The  Adventure  in  Automobiles  ...  67 

VI.    The  Adventure  of  the  Poet         ...  77 

VII.    The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord  .        .  95 

VIII.    The  Adventure  of  the  Princess  of  Pilliwink  116 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

Piled  the  Blue  Money-Orders  Beside  Him  .    Frontispiece 

A  Thing  Not  to  be  Sat  upon  ....      13 

Don't  Swear !     Drink  Glenguzzle !        ...      75 

Daggers  !    Murder  !    Strangling  !  g3 

More  Likely  to  Look  upon  them  with  Cold  Dis- 
dain     133 


Perkins  of  Portland 


i 

MR.   PERKINS  OF   PORTLAND 

'HERE  was  very  little  about 
Perkins  that  was  not  pecul- 
iar. To  mention  his  peculi- 
arities would  be  a  long  task; 
he  was  peculiar  from  the 
ground  up.  His  shoes  had 
rubber  soles,  his  hat  had  peculiar  mansard 
ventilators  on  each  side,  his  garments  were 
vile  as  to  fit,  and  altogether  he  had  the  ap- 
pearance of  being  a  composite  picture. 

We  first  met  in  the  Golden  Hotel  office 
in  Cleveland,  Ohio.  I  was  reading  a  late 
copy  of  a  morning  paper  and  smoking  a 
very  fairish  sort  of  cigar,  when  a  hand  was 
laid  on  my  arm.  I  turned  and  saw  in  the 
chair  beside  me  a  beaming  face. 

"  Just  read  that!  "  he  said,  poking  an  en- 

[i] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


velope  under  my  nose.    "  No,  no !  "  he  cried ; 
"  on  the  back  of  it." 
What  I  read  was: 

"  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster 
Makes  all  pains  and  aches  fly  faster." 

"Great,  isn't  it?"  he  asked,  before  I 
could  express  myself.  "  That  first  line, 
*  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster,'  just  takes 
the  cake.  And  the  last  line!  That  is  a  gem, 
if  I  do  say  it  myself.  Has  the  whole  story 
in  seven  words.  *  All  pains  and  aches ! ' 
Everything  from  sore  feet  to  backache; 
all  the  way  from  A  to  Z  in  the  dictionary 
of  diseases.  Comprehensive  as  a  presiden- 
tial message.  Full  of  meat  as  a  refrigerator- 
car.  *  Fly  faster ! '  Faster  than  any  other 
patent  med.  or  dope  would  make  them  fly. 
<  Makes! '  They've  got  to  fly!  See ?  *  Per- 
kins's Patent  Porous  Plaster  MAKES  all  pains 
and  aches  fly  faster,'  *  makes  ALL  pains  and 
aches  fly  faster,'  *  makes  all  pains  and  aches 
fly  FASTER.'  Isn't  she  a  beaut.?  Say,  you 
can't  forget  that  in  a  thousand  years.  You'll 
find  yourself  saying  it  on  your  death-bed : 

[  2]' 


Mr.  Perkins  of  Portland 

"  '  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster 

'  Makes  all  pains  and  aches  fly  faster.'  " 

I  held  the  envelope  toward  him,  but  he 
only  tapped  it  with  his  finger. 

"  There  is  a  fortune  in  those  two  lines,,, 
he  said.  "  I  know  it.  I'm  Perkins,  known 
from  Maine  to  California  as  Perkins  of  Port- 
land, Perkins  the  Originator.  I  have  origi- 
nated more  ads.  than  any  man  living.  See 
that  shoe?  It's  the  ■ Go-lightly ■  kind.  I 
originated  the  term.  See  this  hat?  It's 
Pratt's.  i  Pratt's  Hats  Air  the  Hair.'  I  orig- 
inated that  ad.  Result,  six  million  pair  of 
the  Go-lightly  kind  of  shoes  sold  the  first 
year.  Eight  million  Pratt's  Hats  sold  on 
the  strength  of  *  Air-the-Hair.'  See  this 
suit  ?  I  originated  the  term  *  Ready-tail- 
ored.' Result,  a  boom  for  the  concern. 
Everybody  crazy  for  Ready-tailored  clothes. 
It's  all  in  the  ad.  The  ad.'s  the  thing.  Say, 
who  originated  *  up-to-date  in  style,  down- 
to-date  in  price  ?  '  I  did.  Made  half  a  mil- 
lion for  a  collar  concern  on  that.  See  that 
fringe  on  those  pants?  And  to  think  that 
the    man    who's    wearing    them    has    made 

millions!      Yes,    millions  — for    other    guys. 

[3] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


But  he's  done.  It's  all  off  with  Willie.  Now 
Willie  is  going  to  make  money  for  himself. 
Mr.  Perkins  of  Portland  is  going  to  get  rich. 
Are  you  with  him?  " 

"  How  is  the  plaster  ?  "  I  asked,  for  there 
was  something  taking  about  Perkins.  "  Is 
it  good  for  anything  ?  " 

"  Plaster !  "  he  said.  "  Bother  the  plas- 
ter! The  ad.'s  all  right,  and  that's  the  main 
thing.  Give  me  a  good  ad.,  and  I'll  sell  lead 
bullets  for  liver  pills.  Display  *  Perkins's 
Bullets  Kill  the  Disease  '  in  all  the  maga- 
zines, and  in  a  year  every  person  with  or 
without  a  liver  would  be  as  full  of  lead  as 
a  printer's  case.  Paint  it  on  ten  thousand 
barns,  and  the  inhabitants  of  these  glori- 
ous States  would  be  plugged  up  like  Mark 
Twain's  frog.  Now  I  have  here  an  ad.  that 
is  a  winner.  Give  me  fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  we  will  have  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  in  America  dreaming,  thinking, 
and  wearing  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster. 
We  will  have  it  in  every  magazine,  on  every 
barn,  fence,  and  rock,  in  the  street-cars, 
on  highways  and   byways,  until   the   refrain 

will  ring  in  sixty  million  American  heads  — 

[4] 


Mr,  Perkins  of  Portland 

" '  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster 

Makes  all  pains  and  aches  fly  faster." 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  I  said,  "  is  the  plas- 
ter good  ?  " 

Mr.  Perkins  of  Portland  leaned  over  and 
whispered  in  my  ear,  "  There  is  no  plaster." 

"  What  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  said,  "  that  will  come  later. 
We  will  get  that  later.  Law  of  supply  and  de- 
mand, you  know.  When  there  is  a  demand, 
there  always  turns  up  a  supply  to  fill  it.  See 
the  point?  You  look  bright.  See  this.  We 
advertise.  Get,  say,  fifty  thousand  orders 
at  ten  dollars  each;  total,  five  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars.  What  next?  We  sell  out. 
We  go  to  some  big  concern.  *  Here,'  we 
say  —  '  Here  is  an  article  advertised  up 
to  the  handle.  Here  are  orders  for  five  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars1  worth.  Thing  on 
the  boom.  Give  us  two  hundred  thousand 
cash,  and  get  up  your  old  plaster,  and  fill 
the  orders.  Thanks.  Good  day.'  See  ?  They 
get  a  well-established  business.  We  get 
a  clear  profit  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand. What  next?  We  get  up  another  ad. 
Invest   our   whole   capital.     Sell   out   for   a 

[5] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


million.  Invest  again,  sell  out  again.  In 
ten  years  we  can  buy  Manhattan  Island  for 
our  town-seat  and  Chicago  for  our  coun- 
try-seat. The  richest  firm  in  the  world  — 
Perkins  and  —  " 

"Brown,"  I  said,  supplying  the  blank; 
"  but  I  haven't  fifty  thousand  dollars,  nor 
yet  ten  thousand." 

"  What  have  you  got  ?  "  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Just  five  thousand." 

"  Done !  "  Perkins  cried. 

And  the  next  day  we  had  the  trade-mark 
registered,  and  had  made  contracts  with 
all  the  Cleveland  papers. 

"You  see,"  said  Perkins,  "we  are  shy 
of  money.  We  can't  bill  the  universe  with 
a  measly  little  five  thou.  We've  got  to 
begin  small.  Our  territory  is  Ohio.  Perkins's 
Patent  Porous  Plaster  shall  be  known  to 
every  Buckeye,  and  we  will  sell  out  for  twenty 
thousand." 

So  we  soon  had  the  words, 

"  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster 

Makes  all  pains  and  aches  fly  faster," 

on  the  fences  and  walls  throughout  Ohio. 
Every    paper    proclaimed    the    same    catchy 

[6] 


Mr.  Perkins  of  Portland 

couplet.  One  or  two  magazines  informed 
the  world  of  it.  The  bill-boards  heralded  it. 
In  fact,  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster  was 
in  everybody's  mouth,  and  bade  fair  to  be 
on  everybody's  back  as  soon  as  there  was 
a  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster  to  put 
on  those  same  backs. 

For  Perkins  was  right.  The  backs  seemed 
fairly  to  ache  for  plasters  of  our  making. 
From  all  over  the  State  druggists  wrote  for 
terms;  and  we  soon  kept  two  typewriters 
busy  informing  the  anxious  pharmacists  that, 
owing  to  the  unprecedented  demand,  our 
factory  was  two  months  behind  on  orders, 
and  that  "  your  esteemed  favor  will  have 
our  earliest  attention,  and  all  orders  will 
be  filled  in  rotation  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment."  Each  day  brought  a  deluge  of 
letters,  and  we  received  several  quite  unso- 
licited testimonials  to  the  merits  of  Perkins's 
Patent  Porous  Plaster.  Perkins  was  radi- 
ant. 

Then  he  faded. 

He  set  out  to  sell  the  trade-mark,  and 
failed!  No  one  wanted  it.  Money  was 
tight,    and    patent    medicines    were    a    drug. 

[  7   ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


Porous  Plasters  were  dead.  Perkins  was 
worried.  Day  followed  day;  and  the  orders 
began  to  decrease,  while  countermands  began 
to  arrive.  We  had  just  two  hundred  dol- 
lars left,  and  bills  for  four  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  advertisements  on  our  file.  At 
last  Perkins  gave  up.  He  came  in,  and  leaned 
despondently  against  my  desk.  Sorrow  marked 
every  feature. 

"  No  use,"  he  said,  dolefully,  "  they  won't 
bite.    We  have  to  do  it." 

"  What  ?  "  I  asked ;  "  make  an  assign- 
ment ?  " 

"  Nonsense !  "  cried  Perkins.  "  Fill  those 
orders  ourselves !  " 

"  But  where  can  we  get  —  " 

"  The  plasters  ?  "  Perkins  scratched  his 
head.  He  repeated  softly,  "  Makes  all  pains 
and  aches  fly  faster,"  and  swung  one  foot 
sadly.    "  That's  it,"  he  said;   "  where?  " 

The  situation  was  becoming  acute.  We 
must  have  plasters  quickly  or  fail.  A  look 
of  sadness  settled  on  his  face,  and  he  dropped 
limply  into  a  chair.  Instantly  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  with  a  yell.    He  grasped  the  tail  of 

his  coat  and  tugged  and  struggled.    He  had 

[8] 


Mr.  Perkins  of  Portland 

sat  on  a  sheet  of  sticky  fly-paper,  and  he  was 
mad,  but  even  while  he  struggled  with  it, 
his  eyes  brightened,  and  he  suddenly  darted 
out  of  the  office  door,  with  the  fly-paper 
rattling  behind   him. 

In  two  hours  he  returned.  He  had  a  punch 
such  as  harness-makers  use  to  punch  holes 
in  straps,  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  a  smile  as 
broad  as  his  face  was  long. 

"They  will  be  here  in  ten  minutes!" 
he  cried.  "  Sit  right  down  and  write  to  all 
of  our  ad.  mediums  to  hold  that  ad.  for  a 
change.  In  one  year  we  will  buy  the  soldiers' 
monument  for  a  paper-weight,  and  pur- 
chase Euclid  Avenue  for  a  bowling-alley! 
Get  off  your  coat.  I've  ordered  fifty  thou- 
sand paper  boxes,  one  hundred  thousand 
labels,  and  two  hundred  thousand  plasters. 
The  first  lot  of  boxes  will  be  here  to-mor- 
row, and  the  first  batch  of  labels  to-night. 
The  plasters  will  be  here  in  five  minutes. 
It's  a  wonder  I  didn't  think  of  it  when  I 
wrote  the  ad.  The  new  ad.  will  sell  two 
plasters  to  every  one  the  old  one  sold." 

"  Where  in  thunder  —  "I  began. 

"  At    the    grocery,    of    course,"    he    cried, 

[9] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  place  to  find 
porous  plasters.  "  I  bought  every  wholesale 
grocer  in  town  out  of  'em.  Cleaned  them 
plump  up.  I've  got  enough  to  fill  all  orders, 
and  some  over.  The  finest  in  the  land. 
Stick  closer  than  a  brother,  *  feel  good,  are 
good,'  as  I  wrote  for  a  stocking  concern. 
Stay  on  until  they  wear  off." 

He  was  right.  The  trucks  soon  began 
to  arrive  with  the  cases.  They  were  piled 
on  the  walk  twenty  high,  they  were  piled 
in  the  street,  we  piled  our  office  full,  and  put 
some  in  the  vacant  room  across  the  hall. 
There  were  over  a  thousand  cases  of  sticky 
fly-paper. 

We  cut  the  sheets  into  thirds,  and  sprinkled 
a  little  cayenne  pepper  on  the  sticky  side 
with  a  pepper-shaker,  and  then  punched 
holes  in  them.  Later  we  got  a  rubber  stamp, 
and  printed  the  directions  for  use  on  each; 
but  we  had  no  time  for  that  then.  When 
the  boxes  began  to  arrive,  Perkins  ran  down 
and  gathered  in  three  newsboys,  and  con- 
stituted them  our  packing  force.  By  the 
end  of  the  week  we  had  our  orders  all  filled. 

And  our  plasters  stuck!     None  ever  stuck 

[  10] 


Mr.  Perkins  of  Portland 

better.  They  stuck  forever.  They  wouldn't 
peel  off,  they  wouldn't  wash  off,  they  wouldn't 
scrape  off.  When  one  wore  off,  it  left  the 
stickiness  there;  and  the  victim  had  to  buy 
another  to  paste  on  top  of  the  old  one  before 
he  could  put  on  a  shirt.  It  was  a  huge  suc- 
cess. 
We  changed  our  ad.  to  read : 

"  Perkins's  Paper  Porous  Plaster 
Makes  all  pains  and  aches  fly  faster," 

and  branched  out  into  the  magazines.  We 
sent  a  man  to  Europe,  and  now  some  of  the 
crowned  heads  are  wearing  our  plasters. 
You  all  remember  Stoneley's  account  of 
meeting  a  tribe  of  natives  in  the  wilds  of 
Africa  wearing  nothing  but  Perkins's  Paper 
Porous  Plasters,  and  recall  the  celebrated 
words  of  Rodriguez  Velos,  second  under- 
study to  the  Premier  of  Spain,  "  America  is 
like  Perkins's  Paper  Porous  Plasters  —  a 
thing  not  to  be  sat  on." 

Five  months  ago  we  completed  our  ten- 
story  factory,  and  increased  our  capital 
stock  to  two  millions;  and  those  to  whom 
we  offered  the  trade-mark  in  our  early  days 

[  11] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


are  green  with  regret.  Perkins  is  abroad 
now  in  his  private  yacht.  Queer  old  fellow, 
too,  for  he  still  insists  on  wearing  the  Go- 
lightly  shoes  and  the  Air-the-Hair  hat,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  he  hasn't  enough  hair 
left  to  make  a  miniature  paint-brush. 

I  asked  him  before  he  left  for  his  cruise 
where  he  was  from,  —  Portland,  Me.,  or 
Portland,  Oreg.,  —  and  he  laughed. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "  it's  all  in  the 
ad.  '  Mr.  Perkins  of  Portland  '  is  a  phrase 
to  draw  dollars*  I'm  from  Chicago.  Get  a 
phrase  built  like  a  watch,  press  the  button, 
and  the  babies  cry  for  it." 

That's  all.  But  in  closing  I  might  remark 
that  if  you  ever  have  any  trouble  with  a 
weak  back,  pain  in  the  side,  varicose  veins, 
heavy  sensation  in  the  chest,  or,  in  fact, 
any  ailment  whatever,  just  remember  that 

Perkins's  Paper  Porous  Plasters 
Make  all  pains  and  aches  fly  faster. 


[  12] 


A  THING  NOT  TO  BE  SAT  UPON. 


II 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MR.  SILAS  BOGGS 

EFORE  my  friend  Perkins  be- 
came famous  throughout  the 
advertising  world,  —  and  what 
part  of  the  world  does  not 
advertise,  —  he  was  at  one  time 
a  soliciting  agent  for  a  com- 
pany that  controlled  the  "  patent  insides  "of  a 
thousand  or  more  small  Western  newspapers. 
Later,  my  friend  Perkins  startled  America 
by  his  renowned  advertising  campaign  for 
Pratt *s  hats;  and,  instead  of  being  plain 
Mr.  Perkins  of  Chicago,  he  blossomed  into 
Perkins  of  Portland.  Still  later,  when  he 
put  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster  on  the 
market,  he  became  great;  became  Perkins 
the  Great,  in  fact;  and  now  advertisers, 
agents,  publishers,  and  the  world  in  general, 
bow  down  and  worship  him.  But  I  love  to 
turn  at  times  from  the  blaze  of  his  present 

glory  to  those  far-off  days  when  he  was  still 

[  13] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


a  struggling  amateur,  just  as  we  like  to  read 

of  Napoleon's  early  history,   tracing  in   the 

small    beginnings    of    their    lives    the    little 

rivulets    of    genius    that    later    overwhelmed 

the  world,  and  caused  the  universe  to  pause 

in  stupefaction. 

Who  would  have  thought  that  the  gentle 

Perkins,  who  induced  Silas  Boggs  to  place 

a  five-line  ad.   in  a  bunch  of  back-county 

weeklies,  would  ever  thrill  the  nation  with 

the  news  that 

Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plasters 
Make  all  pains  and  aches  fly  faster, 

and   keep   up    the  thrill   until    the    Perkins 
Plaster  was  so  to  speak,  in  every  mouth ! 

And  yet  these  two  men  were  the  same. 
Plain  Perkins,  who  urged  and  begged  and 
prayed  Silas  Boggs  to  let  go  of  a  few  dollars, 
and  Perkins  the  Great,  the  Originator,  —  Perkins 
of  Portland,  who  originated  the  Soap  Dust 
Triplets,  the  Smile  that  Lasts  for  Aye,  Ought- 
to-hawa  Biscuit,  —  who,  in  short,  is  the 
father,  mother,  and  grandparent  of  modern 
advertising,  are  the  selfsame  Perkinses. 
From  such  small  beginnings  can  the  world's 
great  men  spring. 

[  14] 


The  Adventure  of  Mr.  Silas  Boggs 

In  the  days  before  the  kodak  had  a  button 
to  press  while  they  do  the  rest;  even  before 
Royal  Baking  Powder  was  quite  so  pure  as 
"  absolutely,"  —  it  was  then  about  991 A 
pure,  like  Ivory  Soap,  —  in  those  days,  I 
say,  long  before  Soapine  "  did  it "  to  the 
whale,  Mr.  Silas  Boggs  awoke  one  morning, 
and  walked  out  to  his  wood-shed  in  a  pair 
of  carpet  slippers.  His  face  bore  an  expres- 
sion of  mingled  hope  and  doubt;  for  he 
was  expecting  what  the  novelists  call  an 
interesting  event,  —  in  fact,  a  birth,  —  and, 
quite  as  much  in  fact,  a  number  of  births  — 
anywhere  from  five  to  a  dozen.  Nor  was 
Silas  Boggs  a  Mormon.  He  was  merely  the 
owner  of  a  few  ravenous  guinea-pigs.  It  is 
well  known  that  in  the  matter  of  progeny 
the  guinea-pig  surpasses  the  famous  Soap 
Dust,  although  that  has,  as  we  all  know, 
triplets  on  every  bill-board. 

Mr.  Silas  Boggs  was  not  disappointed. 
Several  of  his  spotted  pets  had  done  their 
best  to  discountenance  race  suicide;  and 
Silas,  having  put  clean  water  and  straw  and 
crisp  lettuce  leaves  in  the  pens,  began  to 
examine    the   markings    of    the    newcomers, 

[  15  1 


Perkins  of  Portland 


for  he  was  an  enthusiast  on  the  subject  of 
guinea-pigs.  He  loved  guinea-pigs  as  some 
connoisseurs  love  oil  paintings.  He  was 
fonder  of  a  nicely  marked  guinea-pig  than 
a  dilettante  is  of  a  fine  Corot.  And  his  fad 
had  this  advantage.  You  can  place  a  pair 
of  oil  paintings  in  a  room,  and  leave  them 
there  for  ages,  and  you  will  never  have  an- 
other oil  painting  unless  you  buy  one;  but 
if  you  place  a  pair  of  guinea-pigs  in  a  room  — 
then,  as  Rudyard  says  so  often,  that  is  an- 
other story. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Silas  Boggs  stood  upright 
and  shouted  aloud  in  joy.  He  hopped  around 
the  wood-shed  on  one  leg,  clapping  his  hands 
and  singing.  Then  he  knelt  down  again, 
and  examined  more  closely  the  little  spotted 
creature  that  caused  his  joy.  It  was  true, 
beyond  doubt!  One  of  his  pigs  had  presented 
him  with  something  the  world  had  never 
known  before  —  a  lop-eared  guinea-pig !  His 
fame  was  sure  from  that  moment.  He  would 
be  known  to  all  the  breeders  of  guinea- 
pigs  the  world  over  as  the  owner  of  the  fa- 
mous lop-eared  spotted  beauty.  He  chris- 
tened her  Duchess  on  the  spot,  not  especially 

[  16] 


The  Adventure  of  Mr,  Silas  Boggs 

because  duchesses  have  lop-ears,  but  because 
he  liked  the  name.  That  was  in  the  days 
before  people  began  calling  things  Near- 
wool  and  Ka-bosh-ko  and  Ogeta  Jaggon, 
and  similar  made-to-order  names. 

To  Mr.  Boggs,  in  the  midst  of  his  joy, 
came  a  thought;  and  he  feverishly  raked 
out  with  his  hands  the  remaining  newly 
born  guinea-piglets,  examining  one  after 
another.  Oh,  joy!  He  almost  fainted! 
There  was  another  lop-eared  pig  in  the  lit- 
ter; and,  what  filled  his  cup  to  overflow- 
ing, he  was  able  to  christen  the  second  one 
Duke! 

At  that  moment  Perkins  walked  into  the 
wood-shed.  Perkins  at  that  time  had  a 
room  in  the  Silas  Boggs  mansion,  and  he 
entered  the  wood-shed  merely  to  get  an 
armful  of  wood  with  which  to  replenish  his 
fire. 

"  Well,  Boggs,"  he  remarked  in  his  cheer- 
ful way  —  and  I  may  remark  that,  since 
Perkins  has  become  famous,  every  adver- 
tising agent  has  copied  his  cheerful  manner 
of  speech,  so  that  the  ad.  man  who  does  not 

greet  you  with  a  smile  no  longer  exists  — 

[  17  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"  Well,  Boggs,"  he  remarked,  "  more  fam- 
ily ties,  I  see.  Great  thing,  family  ties.  What 
is  home  without  sixty-eight  guinea-pigs  ?  " 

Silas  Boggs  grinned.  "Perkins!"  he 
gasped.  "  Perkins !  Oh,  Perkins !  My  dear 
Perkins ! "  But  he  could  get  no  farther, 
so  overcome  was  he  by  his  emotions.  It 
was  fully  ten  minutes  before  he  could  fully 
and  clearly  explain  that  the  stork  had  brought 
him  a  pair  —  the  only  pair  —  of  lop-eared 
guinea-pigs;  and  in  the  meantime  Perkins 
had  loaded  his  left  arm  with  stove  wood, 
and  stood  clasping  it,  overhand,  with  his 
right  arm.  When  Silas  Boggs  managed  to 
tell  his  wonderful  news,  Perkins  dropped 
the  armful  of  wood  on  the  floor  with  a  crash. 

"Boggs!"  he  cried,  "Boggs!  Now  is 
your  chance  !  Now  is  your  golden  oppor- 
tunity !    Advertise,  my  boy,  advertise !  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Silas  Boggs,  in  amazement. 

"  I  say  —  advertise !  "  exclaimed  Perkins 
again. 

"  And  I  say  —  advertise  what  ?  "  said  Silas 
Boggs. 

"  Advertise  what  ?  "  Perkins  ejaculated. 
"  What  should  you  advertise,  but  Silas  Boggs's 

[  18] 


The  Adventure  of  Mr.  Silas  Boggs 

Celebrated  Lop-eared  Guinea-pigs?  What 
has  the  world  been  waiting  and  longing 
and  pining  for  but  the  lop-eared  guinea- 
pig?  Why  has  the  world  been  full  of  woe 
and  pain,  but  because  it  lacked  lop-eared 
guinea-pigs  ?  Why  are  you  happy  this  morn- 
ing? Because  you  have  lop-eared  guinea- 
pigs  !  Don't  be  selfish,  Silas  —  give  the 
world  a  chance.  Let  them  into  the  joy- 
house  on  the  ground  floor.  Sell  them  lop- 
eared  guinea-pigs  and  joy.  Advertise,  and 
get  rich!  " 

Silas  Boggs  shook  his  head. 

"  No !  "  he  said.  "No!  I  can't.  I  have 
only  two.    I'll  keep  them." 

Perkins  seated  himself  on  the  wood-pile. 

"  Silas,"  he  said,  "  if  I  understand  you, 
one  of  these  lop-eared  guinea-pigs  is  a  lady, 
and  the  other  is  a  gentleman.    Am  I  right  ?  " 

"  You  are,"  remarked  Silas  Boggs. 

"  And  I  believe  the  guinea-pigs  usually 
marry  young,  do  they  not  ?  "  asked  Perkins. 

"  They  do,"  admitted  Silas  Boggs. 

"  I  think,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,"  said 
Perkins,  "  that  you  have  told  me  they  have 
large  and  frequent  families.    Is  it  so  ?  " 

[  19] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"  Undoubtedly,"  agreed  Silas  Boggs. 

"  And  you  have  stated,"  said  Perkins, 
"  that  those  families  marry  young  and  have 
large  and  frequent  families  that  also  marry 
young  and  have  large  and  frequent  families, 
have  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  have !  I  have !  "  exclaimed  Silas  Boggs, 
beginning  to  warm  up. 

"  Then,"  said  Perkins,  "in  a  year  you 
ought  to  have  many,  many  lop-eared  guinea- 
pigs.    Is  that  correct?  " 

"  I  ought  to  have  thousands!  "  cried  Silas 
Boggs,  in  ecstasy. 

"  What  is  a  pair  of  common  guinea-pigs 
worth  ?  "  asked  Perkins. 

"  One  dollar,"  said  Silas  Boggs.  "  A  lop- 
eared   pair  ought   to   be   worth  two   dollars, 

easily." 

"Two  dollars!"  cried  Perkins.  "Two 
fiddlesticks!  Five  dollars,  you  mean!  Why, 
man,  you  have  a  corner  in  lop-ears.  You 
have  all  there  are.    Shake  hands !  " 

The  two  men  shook  hands  solemnly.  Mr. 
Perkins  was  hopefully  solemn.  Mr.  Boggs 
was  amazedly  solemn0 

"  I  shake  your  hand,"  said  Perkins,  "  be- 

[20  ] 


The  Adventure  of  Mr.  Silas  Boggs 

cause  I  congratulate  you  on  your  fortune. 
You  will  soon  be  a  wealthy  man."  He  paused, 
and  then  added,  "  If  you  advertise  judi- 
ciously." 

There  were  real  tears  in  the  eyes  of  Silas 
Boggs,  as  he  laid  his  arm  affectionately 
across  Perkins's  shoulders. 

"  Perkins,"  he  said,  "  I  can  never  repay 
you.  I  can  never  even  thank  you.  I  will 
advertise.  I'll  go  right  into  the  house  and 
write  out  an  order  for  space  in  every  paper 
you  represent.  How  many  papers  do  you 
represent,  Perkins?  " 

Perkins  coughed. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  gently,  "  we  had 
better  begin  small.  Perhaps  we  had  better 
begin  with  a  hundred  or  so.  There  is  no 
use  overdoing  it.  I  have  over  a  thousand 
papers  on  my  list:  and  if  the  lop-eared  brand 
of  guinea-pig  shouldn't  be  as  fond  of  large 
families  as  the  common  guinea-pig  is  —  if 
it  should  turn  out  to  be  a  sort  of  fashionable 
American  family  kind  of  guinea-pig,  you 
know  —  you  might  have  trouble  filling 
orders." 

But   Silas  Boggs  was   too   enthusiastic   to 

[21] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


listen  to  calm  advice.     He  waved  his  arms 
wildly  above  his  head. 

"  No !  no !  "  he  shouted.  "  All,  or  none, 
Perkins!  No  half-measures  with  Silas  Boggs! 
No  skimping!  Give  me  the  whole  thousand! 
I  know  what  advertising  is  —  I've  had  ex- 
perience. Didn't  I  advertise  for  a  position 
as  vice-president  of  a  bank  last  year  —  and 
how  many  replies  did  I  get  ?  Not  one !  Not 
one!  Not  one,  Perkins!  I  know,  you  agents 
are  always  too  sanguine.  But  I  don't  ask 
the  impossible.  I'm  easily  satisfied.  If  I 
sell  one  pair  for  each  of  the  thousand  papers 
I'll  be  satisfied,  and  I'll  consider  myself 
lucky.  And  as  for  the  lop-eared  guinea- 
pigs  —  you  furnish  the  papers,  and  the 
guinea-pigs  will  do  the  rest!  " 

Thus,  in  the  face  of  Perkins's  good  advice, 
Silas  Boggs  inserted  a  small  advertisement 
in  the  entire  list  of  one  thousand  country 
weeklies,  and  paid  cash  in  advance.  To 
those  who  know  Perkins  the  Great  to-day, 
such  folly  as  going  contrary  to  his  advice 
in  advertising  matters  would  be  unthought 
of.  His  word  is  law.  To  follow  his  advice 
means  success;    to  neglect  it  means  failure. 

[22] 


The  Adventure  of  Mr.  Silas  Boggs 

He  is  infallible.  But  in  those  days,  when 
his  star  was  but  rising  above  the  horizon, 
he  was  not,  as  he  is  now,  considered  the 
master  and  leader  of  us  all  —  the  king  of 
the  advertising  world  —  mighty  giant  of  adver- 
tising genius  among  the  dwarfs  of  imitation. 
So  Silas  Boggs  refused  his  advice. 

The  next  month  the  advertisement  of  the 
Silas  Boggs  Lop-eared  Guinea-pigs  began 
to  appear  in  the  weekly  newspapers  of  the 
West.  The  advertisement,  although  small, 
was  well  worded,  for  Perkins  wrote  it  him- 
self. It  was  a  gem  of  advertising  writing. 
It  began  with  a  small  cut  of  a  guinea-pig, 
which,  unfortunately,  appeared  as  a  black 
blot  in  many  of  the  papers;  but  this, 
perhaps,  lent  an  air  of  mystery  to  the  cut 
that  it  would  not  otherwise  have  had.  The 
text  was  as  follows: 

"  The     Celebrated     Lop-eared     Andalusian 

Guinea-pigs!!!      Hardy    and    prolific!      One 

of  nature's  wonders!     Makes  a   gentle   and 

affectionate  pet.     For  young  or  old.     YOU 

CAN   MAKE  MONEY  by  raising  and  selling 

Lop-eared  Andalusian  Guinea-pigs.    One  pair 

starts    you    in   business.    Send    money-order 

[23  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


for  $10  to  Silas  Boggs,  5986  Cottage  Grove 
Avenue,  Chicago,  111.,  and  receive  a  healthy 
pair,  neatly  boxed,  by  express." 

To  Silas  Boggs  the  West  had  theretofore 
been  a  vague,  colorless  expanse  somewhere 
beyond  the  West  Side  of  Chicago.  Three 
days  after  his  advertisements  began  to  ap- 
pear, he  awoke  to  the  fact  that  the  West 
is  a  vast  and  mighty  empire,  teeming  with 
millions  of  souls.  And  to  Silas  Boggs  it 
seemed  that  those  souls  had  been  sleeping 
for  ages,  only  to  be  called  to  life  by  the  lop- 
eared  Andalusian  guinea-pig.  The  lop-eared 
Andalusian  guinea-pig  was  the  one  touch 
that  made  the  whole  West  kin.  Mail  came 
to  him  by  tubfuls  and  basketfuls.  People 
who  despised  and  reviled  the  common  guinea- 
pig  were  impatient  and  restless  because 
they  had  lived  so  long  without  the  sweet 
companionship  of  the  lop-eared  Andalusian. 
From  Tipton,  la.,  and  Vida,  Kan.,  and  Che- 
nawee,  Dak.,  and  Orangebloom,  Cal.,  came 
eager  demands  for  the  hardy  and  prolific 
lop-ear.  Ministers  of  the  gospel  and  babes 
in  arms  insisted  on  having  the  gentle  and 
affectionate  Andalusian  lop-eared  guinea-pigs. 

[24] 


The  Adventure  of  Mr.  Silas  Boggs- 

The  whole  West  arose  in  its  might,  and  sent 
money-orders  to  Silas  Boggs.  And  Silas 
Boggs  opened  the  letters  as  fast  as  he  could, 
and  smiled.  He  piled  the  blue  money-orders 
up  in  stacks  beside  him,  and  smiled.  Silas 
Boggs  was  one  large,  happy  smile  for  one 
large,  happy  week.  Then  he  frowned  a 
little. 

For  all  was  not  well  with  the  lop-eared 
Andalusian  guinea-pigs.  They  were  not 
as  hardy  as  he  had  guaranteed  them  to  be. 
They  seemed  to  have  the  pip,  or  glanders, 
or  boll-weevil,  or  something  unpleasant. 
The  Duke  was  not  only  lop-eared,  but  seemed 
to  feel  loppy  all  over.  The  Duchess,  in  keep- 
ing with  her  name,  evinced  a  desire  to  avoid 
common  society,  and  sulked  in  one  corner 
of  her  cage.  They  were  a  pair  of  very  effete 
aristocrats.  Silas  Boggs  gave  them  catnip 
tea  and  bran  mash,  or  other  sterling  reme- 
dies; but  the  far-famed  lop-eared  Anda- 
lusians  pined  away.  And,  as  Silas  Boggs 
sat  disconsolately  by  their  side,  he  could 
hear  the  mail -men  relentlessly  dumping 
more  and  more  letters  on  the  parlor  floor. 
The  West  was  just  beginning  to  realize  the 

[25] 


Perki?is  of  Portland 


desirability  of  having  lop-eared  guinea-pigs 
at  the  moment  when  lop-eared  guinea-pigs 
were  on  the  point  of  becoming  as  extinct 
as  the  dodo  and  mastodon.  In  a  day  or  two 
they  became  totally  extinct,  and  the  lop- 
eared  Andalusian  guinea-pig  existed  no  more. 
Silas  Boggs  wept. 

But  his  tears  did  not  wash  away  the  con- 
stantly increasing  heaps  of  orders.  He  or- 
dered Perkins  to  withdraw  his  advertise- 
ment, but  still  the  orders  continued  to  come, 
and  Silas  Boggs,  assisted  by  a  corps  of  young, 
but  industrious,  ladies,  began  returning  to  the 
eager  West  the  beautiful  blue  money-orders; 
and,  if  anything  sends  a  pang  through  a 
man's  breast,  it  is  to  be  obliged  to  return 
a  money-order  uncashed. 

By  the  end  of  the  month  the  incoming 
orders  had  dwindled  to  a  few  thousand  daily 
—  about  as  many  as  Silas  Boggs  and  his 
assistants  could  return.  By  the  end  of  the 
next  month  they  had  begun  to  make  notice- 
able inroads  in  the  accumulated  piles  of 
orders;  and  in  two  months  more  the  floor 
was  clear,  and  the  arriving  orders  had  fallen 
to  a  mere  dribble  of  ten  or  twelve  a  day,  but 

[26  ] 


The  Adventure  of  Mr.  Silas  Boggs 

the  hair  of  Silas  Boggs  had  turned  gray,  and 
his  face  was  old  and  wan. 

Silas  Boggs  gave  away  all  his  guinea- 
pigs  —  the  sight  of  them  brought  on  some- 
thing like  a  fit.  He  could  not  even  bear  to 
see  a  lettuce  leaf  or  cabbage-head.  He  will 
walk  three  blocks  to  avoid  passing  an  ani- 
mal store,  for  fear  he  might  see  a  guinea- 
pig  in  the  window.  Only  a  few  days  ago  I 
was  praising  a  certain  man  to  him,  and 
happened  to  quote  the  line  from  Burns,  — 

"  Rank  is  but  the  guinea's  stamp," 

but  when  I  came  to  the  word  "  guinea," 
I  saw  Silas  Boggs  turn  pale,  and  put  his 
hand  to  his  forehead. 

But  he  cannot  escape  the  results  of  his 
injudicious  advertising,  even  at  this  day, 
so  many  years  after.  From  time  to  time 
some  one  in  the  West  will  unpack  a  trunk 
that  has  stood  for  years  in  some  garret,  and 
espying  a  faded  newspaper  laid  in  the  bottom 
of  the  trunk,  will  glance  at  it  curiously,  see 
the  advertisement  of  the  lop-eared  Andalusian 
guinea-pigs,  and  send  Silas  Boggs  ten  dollars. 
For  an  advertisement,  like  sin,  does  not  end 

[27  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


with  the  day,  but  goes  on  and  on,  down  the 
mighty  corridors  of  time,  and,  like  the  hall-boy 
in  a  hotel,  awakes  the  sleeping,  and  calls 
them  to  catch  a  train  that,  sometimes,  has 
long  since  gone,  just  as  the  lop-eared  Anda- 
lusians  have  gone. 


[28] 


Ill 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  LAME  AND 

THE  HALT 

XHAD    not    seen    Perkins    for 
over  two  years,  when  one  day 
he  opened  my  office  door,  and 
stuck  his  head  in.     I  did  not 
see    his   face    at    first,    but    I 
recognized    the    hat.      It   was 
the  same  hat  he  had  worn  two  years  before, 
when  he  put  the  celebrated  Perkins's  Patent 
Porous  Plaster  on  the  market. 

"  Pratt's  Hats  Air  the  Hair."  You  will 
remember  the  advertisement.  It  was  on 
all  the  bill-boards.  It  was  Perkins,  Perkins 
of  Portland,  Perkins  the  Great,  who  con- 
ceived the  rhyme  that  sold  millions  of  the 
hats;  and  Perkins  was  a  believer  in  adver- 
tising and  things  advertised.  So  he  wore 
a  Pratt  hat.  That  was  one  of  Perkins's 
foibles.  He  believed  in  the  things  he  ad- 
vertised. 

[29] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"  Get  next  to  a  thing,"  he  would  say. 
"  Study  it,  learn  to  love  it,  use  it  —  then 
you  will  know  how  to  boom  it.  Take  Mur- 
dochs Soap.  Perkins  of  Portland  boomed 
it.  He  bought  a  cake.  Used  it.  Used  it 
on  his  hands,  on  his  face,  on  his  feet.  Bought 
another  cake  —  washed  his  cotton  socks, 
washed  his  silk  tie,  washed  his  woollen  under- 
wear. Bought  another  cake  —  shaved  with 
it,  shampooed  with  it,  ate  it.  Yes,  sir,  ate 
it !  Pure  soap  —  no  adulteration.  No  taste 
of  rosin,  cottonseed  —  no  taste  of  any- 
thing but  soap,  and  lots  of  that.  Spit  out 
lather  for  a  month!  Every  time  I  sneezed 
I  blew  a  big  soap-bubble  —  perspired  little 
soap-bubbles.  Tasted  soap  for  a  year!  Re- 
sult? Greatest  ad.  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. *  Murdochs  Soap  is  pure  soap.  If 
you  don't  believe  it,  bite  it.'  Picture  of  a 
nigger  biting  a  cake  of  soap  on  every  bill- 
board in  U.  S.  A.  Live  niggers  in  all  the 
grocery  windows  biting  cakes  of  Murdochs 
Soap.  Result?  Five  hundred  thousand  tons  of 
Murdock's  sold  the  first  year.     I  use  no  other." 

And  so,  from  his  "  Go-lightly  "  shoes  to 
his  Pratt's  hat,  Perkins  was  a  relic  of    by- 

[30] 


Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt 

gone  favorites  in  dress.  The  result  was  com- 
ical, but  it  was  Perkins;  and  I  sprang  from 
my  chair  and  grasped  his  hand. 

"  Perkins!  "  I  cried. 

He  raised  his  free  hand  with  a  restrain- 
ing motion,  and  I  noticed  his  fingers  pro- 
truded from  the  tips  of  the  glove. 

"  Say,"  he  said,  still  standing  on  my  thresh- 
old, "  have  you  a  little  time?  " 

I  glanced  at  my  watch.  I  had  twenty 
minutes  before  I  must  catch  my  train. 

"  I'll  give  you  ten  minutes,"  I  said. 

"  Not  enough,"  said  Perkins.  "  I  want 
a  year.  But  I'll  take  ten  minutes  on  ac- 
count.   Owe  me  the  rest!  " 

He  turned  and  beckoned  into  the  hall,  and 
a  small  boy  appeared  carrying  a  very  large 
glass  demijohn.  Perkins  placed  the  demi- 
john on  a  chair,  and  stood  back  gazing  at  it 
admiringly. 

"Great,  isn't  it?"  he  asked.  "Biggest 
demijohn  made.  Heavy  as  lead!  Fine 
shape,  fine  size!    But,  say  —  read  that!  " 

I  bent  down  and  read.  The  label  said: 
"  Onotowatishika  Water.  Bottled  at  the 
spring.    Perkins  &  Co.,  Glaubus,  la." 

[  31  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


I  began  spelling  out  the  name  by  sylla- 
bles, "  O-no  -  to  -  wat  —  "  when  Perkins 
clapped  me  on  the  back. 

"  Great,  hey  ?  Can't  pronounce  it  ?  No- 
body can.  Great  idea.  Got  old  Hunyadi 
Janos  water  knocked  into  a  cocked  hat. 
Hardest  mineral  water  name  on  earth.  Who 
invented  it  ?  I  did.  Perkins  of  Portland. 
There's  money  in  that  name.  Dead  loads 
of  money.  Everybody  that  can't  pronounce 
it  will  want  it,  and  nobody  can  pronounce 
it  —  everybody'll  want  it.  Must  have  it. 
Will  weep  for  it.    But  that  isn't  the  best !  " 

"  No  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  No !  "  shouted  Perkins.  "  I  should  say 
'  no !  *  Look  at  that  bottle.  Look  at  the  size 
of  it.  Look  at  the  weight  of  it  Awful,  isn't  it? 
Staggers  the  brain  of  man  to  think  of  carry- 
ing that  across  the  continent!  Nature  re- 
coils, the  muscles  ache.  It  is  vast,  it  is  im- 
movable, it  is  mighty.    Say!  " 

Perkins  grasped  me  by  the  coat-sleeve, 
and  drew  me  toward  him.  He  whispered 
excitedly. 

"  Great  idea !  O-no-to-what-you-may-call- 
it  water.    Big  jug  full.    Jug  too  blamed  big. 

[  32  ] 


Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt 

Yes  ?  Freight  too  much.  Yes  ?  Listen  — 
'  Perkins  Pays  the  Freight ! ' " 

He  sat  down  suddenly,  and  beamed  upon 
me  joyfully. 

The  advertising  possibilities  of  the  thing 
impressed  me  immediately.  Who  could  re- 
sist the  temptation  of  getting  such  a  mon- 
strous package  of  glassware  by  freight  free 
of  charge  ?  I  saw  the  effect  of  a  life-size 
reproduction  of  the  bottle  on  the  bill-boards 
with  "  Perkins  Pays  the  Freight "  beneath 
it  in  red,  and  the  long  name  in  a  semicircle 
of  yellow  letters  above  it.  I  saw  it  reduced 
in  the  magazine  pages,  in  street-cars  —  every- 
where. 

"  Great  ?  "  queried  Perkins. 

"Yes,"  I  admitted  thoughtfully,  "it  is 
great." 

He  was  at  my  side  in  an  instant. 

"  Wonderful  effect  of  difficulty  overcome 
on  the  human  mind !  "  he  bubbled.  "  Take 
a  precipice.  People  look  over,  shudder,  turn 
away.  Put  in  a  shoot-the-chutes.  People 
fight  to  get  the  next  turn  to  slide  down. 
Same  idea.  People  don't  want  O-no-to- 
thing-um-bob    water.      Hold    on,    '  Perkins 

[33] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


pays  the  freight! '  All  right,  send  us  a  demi- 
john !  " 

I  saw  that  Perkins  was,  as  usual,  right. 

"  Very  well,"  I  said,  "  what  do  you  want 
me  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

Perkins  wanted  a  year  of  my  time,  and 
all  the  money  I  could  spare.  He  mentioned 
twenty  thousand  dollars  as  a  little  begin- 
ning —  a  sort  of  starter,  as  he  put  it.  I  had 
faith  in  Perkins,  but  twenty  thousand  was 
a  large  sum  to  put  into  a  thing  on  the  strength 
of  a  name  and  a  phrase.  I  settled  myself 
in  my  chair,  and  Perkins  put  his  feet  up  on 
my  desk.  He  always  could  talk  better  when 
his  feet  were  tilted  up.  Perhaps  it  sent  a 
greater  flow  of  blood  to  his  brain. 

"  Now  about  the  water  ?  "  I  asked  com- 
fortably. 

"  Vile !  "  cackled  Perkins,  gleefully.  "  Per- 
fectly vile!  It  is  the  worst  you  ever  tasted. 
You  know  the  sulphur-spring  taste  ?  Sort 
of  bad-egg  aroma  ?  Well,  this  O-no-to-so- 
forth  water  is  worse  than  the  worst.  It's 
a  bonanza!  Say!  It's  sulphur  water  with 
a  touch  of  garlic."  He  reached  into  his 
pocket,  and  brought  out  a  flask.    The  water 

[  34  ] 


Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt 

it  contained  was  as  clear  and  sparkling  as 
crystal.  He  removed  the  cork,  and  handed 
the  flask  to  me.  I  sniffed  at  it,  and  hastily 
replaced  the  cork. 

Perkins  grinned  with  pleasure. 

"  Fierce,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Smells 
as  if  it  ought  to  cure,  don't  it  ?  Got  the 
real  old  style  matery-medica-'pothecary-shop 
aroma.  None  of  your  little-pill,  sugar-coated 
business  about  O-no-to-cetera  water.  Not 
for  a  minute!  It's  the  good  old  quinine, 
ipecac,  calomel,  know-when-you're-taking- 
dose  sort.  Why,  say!  Any  man  that  takes 
a  dose  of  that  water  has  got  to  feel  better. 
He  deserves  to  feel  better." 

I  sniffed  at  the  flask  again,  and  resolutely 
returned  it  to  Perkins. 

"  Yes,"  I  admitted,  "  it  has  the  full  legal 
allowance  of  smell.  There's  no  doubt  about 
it  being  a  medicinal  water.  Nobody  would 
mistake  it  for  a  table  water,  Perkins.  A 
child  would  know  it  wasn't  meant  for  per- 
fume; but  what  is  it  good  for?  What  will 
it  cure  ?  " 

Perkins  tilted  his  Pratt  hat  over  one  ear, 
and  crossed  his  legs. 

[  35] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"  Speaking  as  one  Chicago  man  to  an- 
other," he  said  slowly,  "  what  do  you  think 
of  rheumatism  ?  " 

"  If  you  want  me  to  speak  as  man  to 
man,  Perkins,"  I  replied,  "  I  may  say  that 
rheumatism  is  a  mighty  uncomfortable  dis- 
ease." 

"  It's  prevalent,"  said  Perkins,  eagerly. 
"  It's  the  most  prevalent  disease  on  the 
map.  The  rich  must  have  it;  the  poorest 
can  afford  it;  the  young  and  the  old  simply 
roll  in  it!  Why,  man,"  he  exclaimed,  "  rheu- 
matism was  made  'specially  for  O-no-to-so- 
forth  water.  There's  millions  and  millions 
of  cases  of  rheumatism,  and  there's  oceans 
and  oceans  of  Perkins's  World-Famous  O-no- 
to-what-you-call-it  water.  Great  ?  What 
will  cure  rheumatism  ?  Nothing !  What 
will  O-no-to-so-on  water  cure  ?  Nothing ! 
There  you  are!  They  fit  each  other  like  a 
foot  in  a  shoe." 

He  leaned  back,  and  smiled.  Then  he 
waved  his  hand  jauntily  in  the  air. 

"But  I'm  not  partial,"  he  added.  "If 
you  can  think  of  a  better  disease,  we'll  cure 
it.    Anything !  " 

[  36] 


Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt 

"  Perkins,"  I  said,  "  would  you  take  this 
water  for  rheumatism  ?  " 

"Would  I?  Say!  If  I  had  rheuma- 
tism I'd  live  on  it.  I'd  drink  it  by  the  gallon. 
I'd  bathe  in  it  —  " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  a  smile  broke 
forth  at  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  and  grad- 
ually spread  over  his  face  until  it  broke  into 
a  broad  grin,  which  he  vainly  endeavored 
to  stifle. 

"Warm!"  he  murmured,  and  then  his 
grin  broadened  a  little,  and  he  muttered  — 
"  Lukewarm!  "  —  and  grinned  again,  and  ran 
his  hand  through  his  hair.  He  sat  down 
and  slapped  his  knee. 

"Say!"  he  cried,  "Greatest  idea  yet! 
I'm  a  benefactor!  Think  of  the  poor  old 
people  trying  to  drink  that  stuff!  Think  of 
them  trying  to  force  it  down  their  throats! 
It  would  be  a  sin  to  make  a  dog  drink  it !  " 

He  wiped  an  actual  tear  from  his  eye. 

"  What  if  I  had  to  drink  it !  What  if  my 
poor  old  mother  had  to  drink  it!  Cruelty! 
But  we  won't  make  'em.  We  will  be  good! 
We  will  be  generous!  We  will  be  great! 
We  will  let  them  bathe  in  it.    Twice  a  day! 

[37  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


Morning  and  night !  Lukewarm !  Why  make 
weak  human  beings  swallow  it  ?  And  besides, 
they'll  need  more!  Think  of  enough  O-no- 
to-so-forth  water  to  swim  in  twice  a  dayl 
And  good  old  Perkins  paying  the  freight !  " 

Without  another  word  I  reached  over 
and  clasped  Perkins  by  the  hand.  It  was 
a  silent  communion  of  souls  —  of  the  souls 
of  two  live,  up-to-date  Chicagoans.  When 
the  clasp  was  loosened,  we  were  bound  to- 
gether in  a  noble  purpose  to  supply  O-no- 
to-something  water  to  a  waiting,  pain- 
cursed  world.  We  were  banded  together 
like  good  Samaritans  to  supply  a  remedy 
to  the  lame  and  the  halt.  And  Perkins  pay- 
ing the  freight. 

Then  Perkins  gave  me  the  details.  There 
were  to  be  three  of  us  in  the  deal.  There  was 
a  young  man  from  Glaubus,  la.,  in  Chi- 
cago, running  a  street-car  on  the  North 
Side.  He  had  been  raised  near  Glaubus, 
and  his  father  had  owned  a  farm;  but  the 
old  man  was  no  financier,  and  sold  off  the 
place  bit  by  bit,  until  all  that  was  left  was 
a    forty-acre    swamp,  — "  Skunk    Swamp," 

they  called  it,  because  of  the  rank  water,  — 

[38] 


Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt 

and  when  the  old  man  died,  the  son  came 
to  Chicago  to  earn  a  living.  He  brought  along 
a  flask  of  the  swamp  water,  so  that  when 
he  got  homesick,  he  could  take  out  the  cork, 
smell  it,  and  be  glad  he  was  in  Chicago,  in- 
stead of  on  the  old  place.  Up  in  the  corner 
of  the  swamp  a  spring  welled  up;  and  that 
spring  spouted  Onotowatishika  water  day 
and  night,  gallons,  and  barrels,  and  floods 
of  it. 

But  it  needed  a  Perkins  the  Great  to 
know  its  value.  Perkins  smelled  its  value 
the  first  whiff  he  got.  He  had  a  rough  map 
of  Glaubus  with  the  Skunk  Swamp  off  about 
a  mile  to  the  west. 

We  patched  up  the  deal  the  next  day. 
The  young  fellow  was  to  have  a  quarter- 
interest,  because  he  put  in  the  forty  acres, 
and  Perkins  put  in  his  time  and  talent  for 
half  the  balance;  and  I  got  the  remainder 
for  my  time  and  money.  We  wanted  the 
young  fellow  to  take  a  third  interest,  and 
put  in  his  time,  too;  but  he  said  that  rather 
than  go  back  to  the  old  place,  he  would  take 
a  smaller  share,  and  get  a  job  in  some  nice 

sweet  spot,  like  the  stock-yards  or  a  fertilizer 

[39]' 


Perkins  of  Portland 


factory.  So  Perkins  and  I  packed  up,  and 
went  out  to  Glaubus. 

When  we  got  within  two  miles  of  Glaubus, 
Perkins  stuck  his  head  out  of  the  car  win- 
dow, and  drew  it  back,  covered  with  smiles. 

"Smell  it?"  he  asked.  "Great!  You 
can  smell  it  way  out  here!  Wait  till  we  get 
on  the  ground!    It  must  be  wonderful!  " 

I  did  not  wonder,  when  the  train  pulled 
up  at  the  Glaubus  Station,  that  the  place 
was  a  small,  dilapidated  village,  nor  that 
the  inhabitants  wore  a  care-worn,  hopeless 
expression.  There  was  too  much  Onoto- 
watishika  water  in  the  air.  But  Perkins 
glowed  with  joy. 

II  Smell  it  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly.  "  Great 
*  ad. ! '  You  can't  get  away  from  it.  You 
can't  forget  it.  And  look  at  this  town.  Look 
at  the  bare  walls !  Not  a  sign  on  any  of  them ! 
Not  a  bill-board  in  the  place!  Not  an  *  ad.' 
of  any  kind  in  sight!  Perkins,  my  boy,  this 
is  heaven  for  you !    This  is  pie  and  nuts !  " 

I  must  confess  that  I  was  not  so  joyous 
over  the  prospect.  I  began  to  tire  of  Ono- 
towatishika  water  already.  I  suggested  to 
Perkins  that  we  ought  to   have  an  agency 

[40] 


Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt 

in  Chicago,  and  hinted  that  I  knew  all  about 
running  agencies  properly;  but  he  said  I 
would  get  used  to  the  odor  presently,  and  in 
time  come  to  love  it  and  long  for  it  when 
I  was  away  from  it.  I  told  him  that  doubt- 
less he  was  right,  but  that  I  thought  it  would 
do  me  good  to  go  away  before  my  love  got 
too  violent.  But  Perkins  never  could  see  a 
joke,  and  it  was  wasted  on  him.  He  walked 
me  right  out-  to  the  swamp,  and  stood  there 
an  hour  just  watching  the  water  bubble  up. 
It  seemed  to  do  him  good. 

There  was  no  shanty  in  the  village  good 
enough  for  our  office,  so  that  afternoon  we 
bought  a  vacant  lot  next  to  the  post-office 
for  five  dollars,  and  arranged  to  have  a  build- 
ing put  up  for  our  use;  and  then,  as  there 
was  nothing  else  for  us  to  do,  until  the  next 
train  came  along,  Perkins  sat  around  thinking. 
And  something  always  happened  when  Per- 
kins thought. 

In  less  than  an  hour  Perkins  set  off  to  find 
the  mayor  and  the  councilmen  and  a  notary 
public.    He  had  a  great  idea. 

They  had  a  park  in  Glaubus,  —  a  full 
block    of    weeds    and    rank    growth,  —  and 

[41] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


Perkins  showed  the  mayor  what  a  disgrace 
that  park  was  to  a  town  of  the  size  and  beauty 
of  Glaubus.  He  said  there  ought  to  be  a 
fountain  and  walks  and  benches  where 
people  could  sit  in  the  evenings.  The  mayor 
allowed  that  was  so,  but  didn't  see  where  the 
cash  was  to  come  from. 

Perkins  told  him.  Here  we  are,  he  said, 
two  public-spirited  men  come  over  from 
Chicago  to  bottle  up  the  old  skunk  spring, 
and  make  Glaubus  famous.  Glaubus  was 
to  be  our  home,  and  already  we  had  con- 
tracted for  a  beautiful  one-story  building, 
with  a  dashboard  front,  to  make  it  look  like 
two  stories.  If  Glaubus  treated  us  right, 
we  would  treat  Glaubus  right.  Didn't  the 
mayor  want  to  help  along  his  city  ? 

The  mayor  certainly  did,  if  he  didn't  have 
to  pay  out  nothin'. 

All  right,  then,  Perkins  said,  there  was 
that  old  Skunk  Swamp.  We  were  going  to 
bottle  up  a  lot  of  the  water  that  came  out 
of  the  spring  and  ship  it  away;  and  that 
would  help  to  clean  the  air,  for  the  less  water, 
the  less  smell.  All  Perkins  wanted  was  to 
have   those   forty   acres   of   swamp   that   we 

[42  ] 


Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt 

owned  plotted  as  town  lots,  and  taken  in  as 
the  Glaubus  Land  and  Improvement  Com- 
pany's Addition  to  the  town  of  Glaubus.  It 
would  cost  the  village  nothing;  and,  as  fast 
as  Perkins  got  rid  of  the  lots,  the  village 
could  assess  taxes  on  them,  and  the  taxes 
would  pay  for  the  park. 

The  mayor  and  the  council  didn't  see 
but  what  that  was  a  square  deal,  so  they 
called  a  special  meeting  right  there;  and  in 
half  an  hour  we  had  the  whole  thing  under 
way. 

"  But,  Perky,"  I  said,  when  we  were  on 
the  train  hurrying  back  to  Chicago,  "  how 
are  you  going  to  sell  those  lots  ?  They  are 
nothing  but  mud  and  water,  and  no  sane 
man  would  even  think  of  paying  money  for 
them.  Why,  if  the  lot  next  the  post-office 
is  worth  five  dollars,  those  lots  a  mile  away 
from  it,  and  ten  feet  deep  in  mud,  wouldn't 
be  worth  two  copper  cents." 

"  Sell  ?  "  said  Perkins,  sticking  his  hands 
deep  into  the  pockets  of  his  celebrated  "  Baffin 
Bay  "  pants.  "  Sell  ?  Who  wants  to  sell  ? 
We'll  give  'em  away!  What  does  the  pub- 
lic   want  ?    Something   for   nothing !     What 

[43] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


does  it  covet  ?  Real  estate !  All  right,  we 
give  'em  real  estate  for  nothing!  A  lot  in 
the  Glaubus  Land  and  Improvement  Com- 
pany's Addition  to  the  town  of  Glaubus 
free  for  ten  labels  soaked  from  O-no-to- 
thing-um-bob  water  bottles.  Send  in  your 
labels,  and  get  a  real  deed  for  the  lot,  with 
a  red  seal  on  it.  And  Perkins  pays  the 
freight!" 

Did  it  go  ?  Does  anything  that  Perkins  the 
Great  puts  his  soul  into  go  ?  It  went  with 
a  rush.  We  looked  up  the  rheumatism  sta- 
tistics of  the  United  States,  and,  wherever 
there  was  a  rheumatism  district,  we  billed 
the  barns  and  fences.  We  sent  circulars 
and  "  follow-up  "  letters,  and  advertised  in 
local  and  county  papers.  We  shipped  the 
water  by  single  demijohns  at  first,  and  then 
in  half-dozen  crates,  and  then  in  car-lots. 
We  established  depots  in  the  big  business 
centres,  and  took  up  magazine  advertising 
on  a  big  scale.  Wherever  man  met  man, 
the  catchwords,  "  Perkins  pays  the  freight," 
were  bandied  to  and  fro.  "  How  can  you 
afford  a  new  hat  ?  "     "  Oh,   '  Perkins  pays 

the  freight ' !  " 

[44] 


Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt 

The  comic  papers  made  jokes  about  it, 
the  daily  papers  made  cartoons  about  it, 
no  vaudeville  sketch  was  complete  without 
a  reference  to  Perkins  paying  the  freight, 
and  the  comic  opera  hit  of  the  year  was  the 
one  in  which  six  jolly  girls  clinked  cham- 
pagne glasses  while  singing  the  song  ending : 

"  To  us  no  pleasure  lost  is, 
And  we  go  a  merry  gait ; 
We  don't  care  what  the  cost  is, 
For  Perkins  pays  the  freight." 

As  for  testimonials,  we  scooped  in  twenty- 
four  members  of  Congress,  eight  famous 
operatic  stars,  eighty-eight  ministers,  and 
dead  loads  of  others. 

And  our  lots  in  the  Glaubus  Land  and  Im- 
provement Company's  Addition  to  the  town 
of  Glaubus  ?  We  began  by  giving  full- sized 
dwelling-house  lots.  Then  we  cut  it  down  to 
business-lot  size;  and,  as  the  labels  kept 
pouring  in,  we  reduced  the  lots  to  ceme- 
tery lot  size.  We  had  lot  owners  in  Alaska, 
Mexico,  and  the  Philippines;  and  the  vil- 
lage of  Glaubus  fixed  up  its  park,  and  even 
paved  the  main  street  with  taxes.  When- 
ever a  lot  owner  refused  to  pay  his  taxes, 

[45] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


the  deed  was  cancelled;  and  we  split  the 
lot  up  into  smaller  lots,  and  distributed  them 
to  new  label  savers. 

We  also  sent  agents  to  organize  Rheu- 
matism Clubs  in  the  large  cities.  That  was 
Perkins's  greatest  idea,  but  it  was  too  great. 

One  morning  as  Perkins  was  opening  the 
mail,  he  paused  with  a  letter  open  before  him, 
and  let  his  jaw  drop.  I  walked  over  and  laid 
my  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  What  is  it,  Perky  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  lay  back  in  his  chair,  and  gazed  at  me 
blankly.    Then  he  spoke. 

"  The  lame  and  the  halt,"  he  murmured. 
"  They  are  coming.  They  are  coming  here. 
Read  it  ?  " 

He  pushed  the  letter  toward  me  feebly. 
It  was  from  the  corresponding  secretary 
of  the  Grand  Rapids  Rheumatic  Club.  It 
said: 

"  Gentlemen :  —  The  members  of  the  club 
have  used  Onotowatishika  water  for  over 
a  year,  and  are  delighted  to  testify  to  its 
merits.  In  fact,  we  have  used  so  much  that 
each  member  now  owns  several  lots  in  the 

[46] 


Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt 

Glaubus  Land  and  Improvement  Company's 
Addition  to  the  town  of  Glaubus;  and, 
feeling  that  our  health  depends  on  the  con- 
stant and  unremitting  use  of  your  healing 
waters,  we  have  decided  as  a  whole  to  emi- 
grate to  Glaubus,  where  we  may  be  near 
the  source  of  the  waters,  and  secure  them 
as  they  arise  bubbling  from  the  bosom  of 
Mother  Earth.  We  have  withheld  this  pleas- 
ant knowledge  from  you  until  we  had  com- 
pleted our  arrangements  for  deserting  Grand 
Rapids,  in  order  that  the  news  might  come 
to  you  as  a  grateful  surprise.  We  have  read 
in  your  circulars  of  the  beautiful  and  nat- 
ural advantages  of  Glaubus,  and  particu- 
larly of  the  charm  of  the  Glaubus  Land  and 
Improvement  Company's  Addition  to  the 
town  of  Glaubus,  and  we  will  come  prepared 
to  rear  homes  on  the  land  which  has  been 
allotted  to  us.    We  leave  to-day.' ' 

I  looked  at  Perkins.    He  had  wilted. 

"  Perky,"  I  said,  "  cheer  up.  It's  noth- 
ing to  be  sad  about.  But  I  feel  that  I  have 
been    overworking.      I'm    going    to    take    a 

vacation.     I'm   going   to   Chicago,   and   I'm 

[47] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


going  to-day;  but  you  can  stay  and  reap 
the  reward  of  their  gratitude.  I  am  only  a 
secondary  person.     You  are  their  benefactor." 

Perkins  didn't  take  my  remarks  in  the 
spirit  in  which  they  were  meant.  He  jumped 
up  and  slammed  his  desk-lid,  and  locked  it, 
banged  the  door  of  the  safe,  and,  grabbing 
his  Pratt  hat,  crushed  it  on  his  head.  He 
gave  one  quick  glance  around  the  office, 
another  at  the  clock,  and  bolted  for  the 
door.  I  saw  that  he  was  right.  The  train 
was  due  in  two  minutes;  and  it  was  the 
train  from  Chicago  on  which  the  Grand 
Rapids  Rheumatic  Club  would  arrive. 

When  we  reached  the  station,  the  train 
was  just  pulling  in;  and,  as  we  jumped 
aboard,  the  Grand  Rapids  delegation  disem- 
barked. Some  had  crutches  and  some  had 
canes,  some  limped  and  some  did  not  seem 
to  be  disabled.  In  fact,  a  good  many  seemed 
to  be  odiously  able-bodied;  and  there  was 
one  who  looked  like  a  retired  coal-heaver. 

It  was  beautiful  to  see  them  sniffing  the 
air  as  they  stepped  from  the  train.  They 
were  like  a  lot  of  children  on  the  morning 
of  circus  day. 

[48] 


Adventure  of  the  Lame  and  the  Halt 

They  gathered  on  the  station  platform, 
and  gave  their  club  yell;  and  then  one  en- 
thusiastic old  gentleman  jumped  upon  a 
box  and  shouted :  — 

"  What's  the  matter  with  Perkins  ?  " 

The  club,  by  their  loudly  unanimous  re- 
ply, signified  that  Perkins  was  all  right. 

But  as  I  looked  in  the  face  of  Perkins  the 
Great,  I  felt  that  I  could  have  given  a  more 
correct  answer.  I  knew  what  was  the  matter 
with  Perkins.  He  wanted  to  get  away  from 
the  vulgar  throng.  He  wanted  that  train  to 
pull  out. 

And  it  did. 

As  we  passed  out  of  the  town  limits,  we 
heard  the  Grand  Rapids  Rheumatic  Club 
proclaiming  in  unison  that  Perkins  was  — 

u  First  in  peace  !     First  in  war ! 
First  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen !  " 

But  that  was  before  they  visited  their  real 
estate  holdings. 


[49] 


IV 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  FIFTH  STREET 

CHURCH 

FTER  that  Glaubus  affair,  I 
did  not  see  Perkins  for  nearly 
a  year.  He  was  spending 
his  money  somewhere,  but 
I  knew  he  would  turn  up 
when  it  was  gone;  and  one 
day  he  entered  my  office  hard  up,  but  en- 
thusiastic. 

"  Ah,"  I  said,  as  soon  as  I  saw  the  glow 
in  his  eyes,  "  you  have  another  good  thing  ? 
Am  I  in  it  ?  " 

"In  it  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Of  course,  you're 
in  it!  Does  Perkins  of  Portland  ever  forget 
his  friend  ?  Never !  Sooner  will  the  public 
forget  that  *  Pratt's  Hats  Air  the  Hair,'  as 
made  immortal  by  Perkins  the  Great !  Sooner 
will  the  world  forget  that    ■  Dill's  Pills  Cure 

All  Ills,'  as  taught  by  Perkins !  " 

[50] 


Adventure  of  the  Fifth  Street  Church 

"Is  it  a  very  good  thing,  this  time  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"Good  thing?"  he  asked.  "Say!  Is 
the  soul  a  good  thing  ?  Is  a  man's  right 
hand  a  good  thing  ?  You  know  it !  Well, 
then,  Perkins  has  fathomed  the  soul  of  the 
great  U.  S.  A.  He  has  studied  the  Ameri- 
can man.  He  has  watched  the  American 
woman.  He  has  discovered  the  mighty 
lever  that  heaves  this  glorious  nation  on- 
ward in  its  triumphant  course." 

"  I  know,"  I  said,  "  you  are  going  to  start 
a  correspondence  school  of  some  sort." 

Perkins  sniffed  contemptuously. 

"  Wait!  "  he  cried  imperiously. 

"See  the  old  world  crumbling  to  decay! 
See  the  U.  S.  A.  flying  to  the  front  in  a  gold- 
painted  horseless  band-wagon!  Why  does 
America  triumph  ?  What  is  the  cause  and 
symbol  of  her  success  ?  What  is  mightier 
than  the  sword,  than  the  pen,  than  the  Gat- 
ling  gun  ?  What  is  it  that  is  in  every  hand 
in  America;  that  opens  the  good  things  of 
the  world  for  rich  and  poor,  for  young  and 
old,  for  one  and  all  ?  " 

"  The  ballot-box  ?  "  I  ventured. 

[51  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


Perkins  took  something  from  his  trousers 
pocket,  and  waved  it  in  the  air.  I  saw  it  glit- 
ter in  the  sunlight  before  he  threw  it  on 
my  desk.  I  picked  it  up  and  examined  it. 
Then  I  looked  at  Perkins. 

"  Perkins,"  I  said,  "  this  is  a  can-opener." 

He  stood  with  folded  arms,  and  nodded 
his  head  slowly. 

"Can-opener,  yes!"  he  said.  "Wealth- 
opener;  progress-opener!  "  He  put  one 
hand  behind  his  ear,  and  glanoed  at  the 
ceiling.  "Listen!"  he  said.  "What  do 
you  hear  ?  From  Portland,  Maine,  to  Port- 
land, Oregon;  from  the  palms  of  Florida  to 
the  pines  of  Alaska  —  cans !  Tin  cans ! 
Tin  cans  being  opened !  " 

He  looked  down  at  me,  and  smiled. 

"  The  back-yards  of  Massachusetts  are 
full  of  old  tin  cans,"  he  exclaimed.  "  The  gar- 
bage-wagons of  New  York  are  crowned  with 
old  tin  cans.  The  plains  of  Texas  are  dotted 
with  old  tin  cans.  The  towns  and  cities  of 
America  are  full  of  stores,  and  the  stores  are 
full  of  cans.  The  tin  can  rules  America! 
Take  away  the  tin  can,  and  America  sinks 
to  the  level  of  Europe !    Why  has  not  Europe 

[52  ] 


Adventure  of  the  Fifth  Street  Church 

sunk  clear  out  of  sight  ?  Because  America 
sends  canned  stuff  to  their  hungry  hordes!  " 

He  leaned  forward,  and,  taking  the  can- 
opener  from  my  hand,  stood  it  upright  against 
my  inkstand.  Then  he  stood  back  and  waved 
his  hand  at  it. 

"  Behold !"  he  cried.  "The  emblem  of 
American  genius!  " 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  what  are  you  going  to 
sell,  cans  or  can-openers  ?  " 

He  leaned  over  me  and  whispered. 

"  Neither,  my  boy.  We  are  going  to  give 
can-openers  away,  free  gratis !  " 

"  They  ought  to  go  well  at  that  price," 
I  suggested. 

"  One  nickel-plated  Perkins  Can-opener 
free  with  every  can  of  our  goods.  At  all 
grocers,"  said  Perkins,  ignoring  my  remark. 

"  Well,  then,"  I  said,  for  I  caught  his 
idea,  "  what  are  we  going  to  put  in  the  cans  ?  " 

"  What  do  people  put  in  cans  now  ? " 
asked  Perkins. 

I  thought  for  a  moment. 

"Oh!"  I  said,  "tomatoes  and  peaches 
and  corn,  sardines,  and  salmon,  and  —  " 

"Yes!"  Perkins  broke  in,  "and  codfish, 

[  53] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


and  cod-liver  oil,  and  kerosene  oil,  and  cot- 
tonseed-oil, and  axle-grease  and  pie!  Every- 
thing !    But  what  don't  they  put  in  cans  ?  " 

I  couldn't  think  of  a  thing.  I  told  Perkins 
so.  He  smiled  and  made  a  large  circle  in 
the  air  with  his  right  forefinger. 

"  Cheese !  "  he  said.  "  Did  you  ever  see 
a  canned  cheese  ?  " 

I  tried  to  remember  that  I  had,  but  I 
couldn't.  I  remembered  potted  cheese,  in 
nice  little  stone  pots,  and  in  pretty  little 
glass  pots. 

Perkins  sneered. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  how  did  you  open 
it?" 

"  The  lids  unscrewed,"  I  said. 

Perkins  waved  away  the  little  stone  and 
the  little  glass  pots. 

"  No  good !  "  he  cried.  "  They  don't  ap- 
peal to  the  great  American  person.  I  see," 
he  said,  screwing  up  one  eye  —  "I  see  the 
great  American  person.  It  has  a  nickel- 
plated,  patent  Perkins  Can-opener  in  its 
hand.  It  goes  into  its  grocer  shop.  It  asks 
for  cheese.  The  grocer  shows  it  plain  cheese 
by  the  slice.     No,  sir!     He  shows  it  potted 

[54] 


Adventure  of  the  Fifth  Street  Church 

cheese.  No,  sir!  What  the  great  American 
person  wants  is  cheese  that  has  to  be  opened 
with  a  can-opener.  Good  cheese,  in  patent, 
germ-proof,  air-tight,  water-tight,  skipper- 
tight  cans,  with  a  label  in  eight  colors.  Full 
cream,  full  weight,  full  cans;  picture  of 
a  nice  clean  cow  and  red-cheeked  dairy- 
maid in  short  skirts  on  front  of  the  label,  and 
eight  recipes  for  Welsh  rabbits  on  the  back." 

He  paused  to  let  this  soak  into  me,  and 
then  continued : 

"  Individual  cheese !  Why  make  cheese 
the  size  of  a  dish-pan?  Because  grandpa 
did  ?  Why  not  make  them  small  ?  Perkins's 
Reliable  Full  Cream  Cheese,  just  the  right 
size  for  family  use,  twenty-five  cents  a  can, 
with  a  nickel-plated  Perkins  Can-opener, 
free  with  each  can.    At  all  grocers." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  Fifth  Street 
Church,  as  you  shall  see. 

We  bought  a  tract  of  land  well  outside 
of  Chicago,  and,  to  make  it  sound  well  on 
our  labels,  we  named  it  Cloverdale.  This 
was  Perkins's  idea.  He  wanted  a  name 
that  would  harmonize  with  the  clean  cow 
and  the  rosy  milkmaid  on  our  label. 

[  55] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


We  owned  our  own  cows,  and  built  our 
own  dairy  and  cheese  factory,  and  made 
first-class  cheese.  As  each  cheese  was  just 
the  right  size  to  fit  in  a  can,  and  as  the  rind 
would  protect  the  cheese,  anyway,  it  was 
not  important  to  have  very  durable  cans, 
so  we  used  a  can  that  was  all  cardboard, 
except  the  top  and  bottom.  Perkins  insisted 
on  having  the  top  and  bottom  of  tin,  so  that 
the  purchaser  could  have  something  to  open 
with  a  can-opener;  and  he  was  right.  It 
appealed  to  the  public. 

The  Perkins  cheese  made  a  hit,  or  at  least 
the  Perkins  advertising  matter  did.  We 
boomed  it  by  all  the  legitimate  means,  in 
magazines,  newspapers,  and  street-cars,  and 
on  bill-boards  and  kites;  and  we  got  out  a 
very  small  individual  can  for  restaurant  and 
hotel  use.  It  got  to  be  the  fashion  to  have 
the  waiter  bring  in  a  can  of  Perkins's  cheese, 
and  show  the  diner  that  it  had  not  been 
tampered  with,  and  then  open  it  in  the  diner's 
sight. 

We  ran  our  sales  up  to  six  hundred  thou- 
sand cases  the  first  year,  and  equalled  that 
in  the  first  quarter  of  the  next  year;    and 

[  M] 


Adventure  of  the  Fifth  Street  Church 

then  the  cheese  trust  came  along,  and  bought 
us  out  for  a  cool  eight  hundred  thousand, 
and  all  they  wanted  was  the  good-will  and 
trade-mark.  They  had  a  factory  in  Wis- 
consin that  could  make  the  cheese  more 
economically.  So  we  were  left  with  the 
Cloverdale  land  on  our  hands,  and  Perkins 
decided  to  make  a  suburb  of  it. 

Perkins's  idea  was  to  make  Cloverdale 
a  refined  and  aristocratic  suburb;  something 
high-toned  and  exclusive,  with  Queen  Anne 
villas,  and  no  fences;  and  he  was  particu- 
larly strong  on  having  an  ennobling  relig- 
ious atmosphere  about  it.  He  said  an  en- 
nobling religious  atmosphere  was  the  best  kind 
of  a  card  to  draw  to  —  that  the  worse  a  man 
was,  the  more  anxious  he  was  to  get  his 
wife  and  children  settled  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  an  ennobling  religious  atmosphere. 

So  we  had  a  map  of  Cloverdale  drawn, 
with  wide  streets  running  one  way  and  wide 
avenues  crossing  the  streets  at  right  angles, 
and  our  old  cheese  factory  in  a  big  square 
in  the  centre  of  the  town.  It  was  a  beautiful 
map,  but  Perkins  said  it  lacked  the  ennobling 
religious  atmosphere;    so  the  first  thing  he 

[57] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


did  was  to  mark  in  a  few  churches.  He 
began  at  the  lower  left-hand  corner,  and 
marked  in  a  church  at  the  corner  of  First 
Street  and  First  Avenue,  and  put  another 
at  the  corner  of  Second  Street  and  Second 
Avenue,  and  so  on  right  up  on  the  map. 
This  made  a  beautiful  diagonal  row  of 
churches  from  the  upper  right-hand  corner 
to  the  lower  left-hand  corner  of  the  map, 
and  did  not  miss  a  street.  Perkins  pointed 
out  the  advertising  value  of  the  arrange- 
ment : 

"  Cloverdale,  the  Ideal  Home  Site.  A 
Church  on  Every  Street.  Ennobling  Relig- 
ious Atmosphere.     Lots  on  Easy  Payments." 

The  old  cheese  factory  was  to  be  the  Clover- 
dale  Club-house,  and  we  set  to  work  at  once 
to  remodel  it.  We  had  the  stalls  knocked 
out  of  the  cow-shed,  and  made  it  into  a 
bowling-alley,  and  added  a  few  cupolas  and 
verandas  to  the  factory,  and  had  the  latest 
styles  of  wall-paper  put  on  the  walls,  and 
in  a  few  days  we  had  a  first-class  club-house. 

But  we  did  not  stop  there.  Perkins  was 
bound  that  Cloverdale  should  be  first-class 
in  every  respect,  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to 

[58] 


Adventure  of  the  Fifth  Street  Church 

see  him  marking  in  public  institutions.  Every 
few  minutes  he  would  think  of  a  new  one 
and  jot  it  down  on  the  map;  and  every  time 
he  jotted  down  an  opera-house,  or  a  school- 
house,  or  a  public  library,  he  would  raise 
the  price  of  the  lots,  until  we  had  the  place 
so  exclusive,  I  began  to  fear  I  couldn't  af- 
ford to  live  there.  Then  he  put  in  a  street-car 
line  and  a  water  and  gas  system,  and  quit; 
for  he  had  the  map  so  full  of  things  that  he 
could  not  put  in  another  one  without  mak- 
ing it  look  mussy. 

One  thing  Perkins  insisted  on  was  that 
there  should  be  no  factories.  He  said  it  would 
be  a  little  paradise  right  in  Cook  County. 
He  liked  the  phrase,  "  Paradise  within  Twenty 
Minutes  of  the  Chicago  Post-office,"  so  well 
that  he  raised  the  price  of  the  lots  another 
ten  dollars  all  around. 

Then  we  began  to  advertise.  We  did  not 
wait  to  build  the  churches  nor  the  school- 
house,  nor  any  of  the  public  institutions. 
We  did  not  even  wait  to  have  the  streets 
surveyed.  What  was  the  use  of  having 
twenty  or  thirty  streets  and  avenues  paved 
when    the    only    inhabitants    were    Perkins 

[  59] 


Perkins  of  Portland 

and  I  and  the  old  lady  who  took  care  of  the 
Club-house  ?  Why  should  we  rush  ourselves 
to  death  to  build  a  school-house  when  the 
only  person  in  Cloverdale  with  children  was 
the  said  old  lady  ?  And  she  had  only  one 
child,  and  he  was  forty-eight  years  old,  and 
in  the  Philippines. 

We  began  to  push  Cloverdale  hard.  There 
wasn't  an  advertising  scheme  that  Perkins 
did  not  know,  and  he  used  them  all.  People 
would  open  their  morning  mail,  and  a  cir- 
cular would  tell  them  that  Cloverdale  had 
an  ennobling  religious  atmosphere.  Their 
morning  paper  thrust  a  view  of  the  Clover- 
dale Club-house  on  them.  As  they  rode 
down-town  in  the  street-cars,  they  read 
that  Cloverdale  was  refined  and  exclusive. 
The  bill-boards  announced  that  Cloverdale 
lots  were  sold  on  the  easy  payment  plan. 
The  magazines  asked  them  why  they  paid 
rent  when  Cloverdale  land  was  to  be  had 
for  little  more  than  the  asking.  Round-trip 
tickets  from  Chicago  to  Cloverdale  were 
furnished  any  one  who  wanted  to  look  at 
the  lots.  Occasionally,  we  had  a  free-open- 
air  vaudeville  entertainment. 

[60] 


THERE    WERE    TEN    STREETS    IN    CLOVERDALE    (ON 

PAPER). 


Adventure  of  the  Fifth  Street  Church 

Our  advertising  campaign  made  a  big  hit. 
There  were  a  few  visitors  who  kicked  because 
we  did  not  serve  beer  with  the  free  lunches 
we  gave,  but  Perkins  was  unyielding  on  that 
point.  Cloverdale  was  to  be  a  temperance 
town,  and  he  held  that  it  would  be  incon- 
sistent to  give  free  beer.  But  the  trump 
card  was  our  guarantee  that  the  lots  would 
advance  twenty  per  cent,  within  twelve 
months.  We  could  do  that  well  enough, 
for  we  made  the  price  ourselves;  but  it  made 
a  fine  impression,  and  the  lots  began  to  sell 
like  hot  cakes. 

There  were  ten  streets  in  Cloverdale  (on 
paper)  and  ten  avenues  (also  on  paper) ; 
and  Perkins  used  to  walk  up  and  down  them 
(not  on  the  paper,  but  between  the  stakes 
that  showed  their  future  location),  and  ad- 
mire the  town  of  Cloverdale  as  it  was  to  be. 
He  would  stand  in  front  of  the  plot  of  weeds 
that  was  the  site  of  the  opera-house,  and 
get  all  enrapt  and  enthusiastic  just  thinking 
how  fine  that  opera-house  would  be  some 
day;  and  then  he  would  imagine  he  was 
on  our  street-car  line  going  down  to  the 
library.     But   the   thing   Perkins   liked   best 

[61  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


was  to  go  to  church.  Whenever  he  passed 
one  of  the  corner  lots  that  we  had  set  aside 
for  a  church,  he  would  take  off  his  hat  and 
look  sober,  as  a  man  ought  when  he  has  sud- 
denly run  into  an  ennobling  religious  at- 
mosphere. 

One  day  a  man  came  out  from  Chicago, 
and,  after  looking  over  our  ground,  told  us 
he  wanted  to  take  ten  lots;  but  none  suited 
him  but  the  ten  facing  on  First  Avenue  at 
the  corner  of  First  Street.  Perkins  tried  to 
argue  him  into  taking  some  other  lots,  but 
he  wouldn't.  Perkins  and  I  talked  it  over, 
and,  as  the  man  wanted  to  build  ten  houses, 
we  decided  to  sell  him  the  lots. 

We  thought  a  town  ought  to  have  a  few 
houses,  and  so  far  Cloverdale  had  nothing 
but  the  Club-house.  As  we  had  previously 
sold  all  the  other  lots  on  First  Street,  we  had 
no  place  on  that  street  to  put  the  First  Street 
Church,  so  Perkins  rubbed  it  off  the  map, 
and  marked  it  at  the  corner  of  First  Avenue 
and  Fifth  Street. 

The  next  day  a  man  came  down  who 
wanted  a  site  for  a  grocery.  We  were  glad 
to  see  him,  for  every  first-class  town  ought 

[62] 


Adventure  of  the  Fifth  Street  Church 

to  have  a  grocery;  but  Perkins  balked  when 
he  insisted  on  having  the  lot  at  the  corner 
of  Sixth  Avenue  and  Sixth  Street  that  we 
had  set  aside  for  the  First  Methodist  Church. 
Perkins  said  he  would  never  feel  quite  him- 
self again  if  he  had  to  think  that  he  had 
been  taking  off  his  hat  to  a  grocery  every 
time  he  passed  that  lot.  It  would  lower  his 
self-respect.  I  was  afraid  we  were  going 
to  lose  the  grocer  to  save  Perkins's  self- 
respect.  Then  we  saw  we  could  move  the 
church  to  the  corner  of  Sixth  Avenue  and 
Fifth  Street 

When  we  once  got  those  churches  on  the 
move,  there  seemed  to  be  no  stopping.  We 
doubled  the  price,  but  still  people  wanted 
those  lots,  and  in  the  end  they  got  them; 
and  as  soon  as  we  sold  out  a  church  lot, 
we  moved  the  church  up  to  Fifth  Street, 
and  in  a  bit  Perkins  got  enthusiastic  over  the 
idea,  and  moved  the  rest  of  the  churches 
there  on  his  own  accord.  He  said  it  would 
be  a  great  "ad."  —  a  street  of  churches; 
and  it  would  concentrate  the  ennobling  relig- 
ious atmosphere,  and  make  it  more  powerful. 

All  this  time  the  lots  continued  to  sell  be- 

[63  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


yond  our  expectations;  and  by  the  end  of 
the  year  we  had  advanced  the  price  of  lots 
one  hundred  per  cent.,  and  were  consider- 
ing another  advance.  We  did  not  think  it 
fair  to  the  sweltering  Chicago  public  to  ad- 
vance the  price  without  giving  it  a  chance 
to  get  the  advantage  of  our  fresh  air  and  pure 
water  at  the  old  price,  so  we  told  them  of 
the  contemplated  rise.  We  let  them  know 
it  by  means  of  bill-boards  and  newspapers 
and  circular  letters  and  magazines;  and 
a  great  many  people  gladly  availed  them- 
selves of  our  thoughtfulness  and  our  guar- 
antee that  we  would  advance  the  price  twenty- 
per  cent,  on  the  first  day  of  June. 

So  many,  in  fact,  bought  lots  before  the 
advance  that  we  had  none  left  to  advance. 
Perkins  came  to  me  one  morning,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  and  explained  that  we  had  made 
a  promise,  and  could  not  keep  it.  We  had 
agreed  to  advance  the  lots  twenty  per  cent., 
and  we  had  nothing  to  advance. 

"  Well,  Perky,"  I  said,  "  it  is  no  use  cry- 
ing. What  is  done  is  done.  Are  you  sure 
there  are  no  lots  left  ?  " 

"  William,"  he  said,  seriously,  "  we  think 

[64] 


Adventure  of  the  Fifth  Street  Church 

a     great    deal     of    these    churches,     don't 
we?" 

"Yes!"    I    exclaimed.      "We    do!      We 
think  an  ennobling  religious  atmosphere  —  " 

But  he  cut  me  short. 

"  William,"  he  said,  "  do  you  know  what 
we  are  doing  ?  We  talk  about  our  ennobling 
religious  atmosphere,  but  we  are  standing 
in  the  path  of  progress.  A  mighty  wave  of 
reform  is  sweeping  through  Christendom. 
The  new  religious  atmosphere  is  sweeping 
out  the  old  religious  atmosphere.  I  can  feel 
it.  Brotherly  love  is  knocking  out  the  sects. 
Shall  Cloverdale  cling  to  the  old,  or  shall 
it  stand  as  the  leader  in  the  movement  for 
a  reunited  Church  ?  " 

I  clasped  Perkins's  hand. 

"  A  tabernacle !  "  I  cried. 

"  Right!  "  exclaimed  Perkins.  "  Why  ten 
conflicting  churches  ?  Why  not  one  grand 
meeting  -  place  —  all  faiths  —  no  creeds! 
Bring  the  people  closer  together  —  spread 
an  ennobling  religious  atmosphere  that  is 
worth  talking  about !  " 

"  Perkins,"  I  said,  "  what  you  have  done 
for  religion  will  not  be  forgotten." 

[65] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


He  waved  my  praise  away  airily. 

"  I  have  buyers,"  he  said,   "  for  the  nine 
church  lots  at  the  advanced  price." 

Considering  that  the  land  practically  cost 
us  nothing,  we  made  one  hundred  and  six 
thousand  dollars  on  the  Cloverdale  deal. 
Perkins  and  I  were  out  that  way  lately;  and 
there  is  still  nothing  on  the  land  but  the 
Club-house,  which  needs  paint  and  new 
glass  in  the  windows.  When  we  reached 
the  Fifth  Street  Church,  we  paused,  and 
Perkins  took  off  his  hat.  It  was  a  noble 
instinct,  for  here  was  one  church  that  never 
quarrelled  with  its  pastor,  to  which  all  creeds 
were  welcome,  and  that  had  no  mortgage. 

"  Some  of  these  days,"  said  Perkins,  "  we 
will  build  the  tabernacle.  We  will  come  out 
and  carry  on  our  great  work  of  uniting  the 
sects.  We  will  build  a  city  here,  surrounded 
by  an  ennobling  religious  atmosphere  —  a 
refined,  exclusive  city.  The  time  is  almost 
ripe.  By  the  time  these  lot-holders  pay 
another  tax  assessment,  they  will  be  sick 
enough.  We  can  get  the  lots  for  almost 
nothing." 


[66] 


THE  ADVENTURE  IN  AUTOMOBILES 

QERKINS  and  I  sat  on  the 
veranda  of  one  of  the  little 
road-houses  on  Jerome  Ave- 
nue, and  watched  the  auto- 
mobiles go  by.  There  were 
many  automobiles,  of  all  sorts 
and  colors,  going  at  various  speeds  and  in 
divers  manners.  It  was  a  thrilling  sight  — 
the  long  rows  of  swiftly  moving  auto-vehi- 
cles running  as  smoothly  as  lines  of  verse, 
all  neatly  punctuated  here  and  there  by  an 
automobile  at  rest  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
like  a  period  bringing  the  line  to  a  full  stop. 
And  some,  drawn  to  the  edge  of  the  road, 
stood  like  commas.  There  were  others, 
too,  that  went  snapping  by  with  a  noise  like 
a  bunch  of  exclamation-points  going  off 
in  a  keg.  And  not  a  few  left  a  sulphurous, 
acrid  odor,  like  the  after-taste  of  a  ripping 

[  67  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


Kipling  ballad.  I  called  Perkins's  atten- 
tion to  this  poetical  aspect  of  the  thing,  but 
he  did  not  care  for  it.  He  seemed  sad.  The 
sight  of  the  automobiles  aroused  an  unhappy 
train  of  thought  in  his  mind. 

Perkins  is  the  advertising  man.  Adver- 
tising is  not  his  specialty.  It  is  his  life;  it 
is  his  science.  That  is  why  he  is  known 
from  Portland,  Me.,  to  Portland,  Oreg.,  as 
Perkins  the  Great.  There  is  but  one  Perkins. 
A  single  century  could  never  produce  two 
such  as  he.    The  job  would  be  too  big. 

"  Perky,"  I  said,  "  you  look  sad." 

He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  procession 
of  horseless  vehicles,  and  nodded. 

"Sad!"  he  ejaculated.  "Yes!  Look  at 
them.  You  are  looking  at  them.  Every- 
body looks  at  them.  Wherever  you  go  you 
see  them  —  hear  them  —  smell  them.  On 
every  road,  in  every  town  —  everywnere  — 
nothing  but  automobiles;  nothing  but  people 
looking  at  them  —  all  eyes  on  them.  I'm 
sad !  " 

"  They  are  beautiful,"  I  ventured,  "  and 
useful." 

Perkins  shook  his  head. 

[68] 


The  Adventure  in  Automobiles 

"Useless!  Wasted!  Thrown  away!  Look 
at  them  again.  What  do  you  see  ?  "  He 
stretched  out  his  hand  toward  the  avenue. 
I  knew  Perkins  wanted  me  to  see  something 
I  could  not  see,  so  I  looked  long  enough  to  be 
quite  sure  I  could  not  see  it;  and  then  I  said, 
quite  positively,  — 

"  I  see  automobiles  —  dozens  of  them." 
"  Ah!  "  Perkins  cried  with  triumph.  M  You 
see  automobiles!  You  see  dozens  of  them! 
But  you  don't  see  an  ad.  —  not  a  single  ad. 
You  see  dozens  of  moving  things  on  wheels 
that  people  twist  their  necks  to  stare  at. 
You  see  things  that  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren stand  and  gaze  upon,  and  not  an  ad- 
vertisement on  any  of  them!  Talk  about 
wasted  opportunity!  Talk  about  good  money 
thrown  away!  Just  suppose  every  one  of 
those  automobiles  carried  a  placard  with 
*  Use  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster,'  upon 
it!  Every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  New 
York  would  know  of  Perkins's  Patent  Por- 
ous Plaster  by  this  evening!  It  would  be 
worth  a  million  cold  dollars !  Sad  ?  Yes ! 
There  goes  a  million  dollars  wasted,  thrown 
away,  out  of  reach!  " 

[69] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"  Perkins,"  I  said,  "  you  are  right.  It 
would  be  the  greatest  advertising  oppor- 
tunity of  the  age,  but  it  can't  be  done.  Ad- 
vertising space  on  those  automobiles  is  not 
for  sale." 

"No,"  he  admitted,  "it's  not.  That's 
why  Perkins  hates  the  auto.  It  gives  him 
no  show.  It  is  a  fizzle,  a  twentieth-century 
abomination  —  an  invention  with  no  room 
for  an  ad.    I'm  tired.    Let's  go  home." 

We  settled  our  small  account  with  the 
waiter,  and  descended  to  the  avenue,  just 
as  a  large  and  violent  automobile  came  to 
a  full  stop  before  us.  There  was  evidently 
something  wrong  with  the  inwardness  of 
that  automobile;  for  the  chauffeur  began 
pulling  and  pushing  levers,  opening  little 
cubby-holes,  and  poking  into  them,  turning 
valves  and  cocks,  and  pressing  buttons  and 
things.    But  he  did  not  find  the  soft  spot. 

I  saw  that  Perkins  smiled  gleefully  as  the 

chauffeur  did  things  to  the  automobile.     It 

pleased    Perkins    to    see    automobiles    break 

down.    He  had  no  use  for  them.    They  gave 

him  no   opportunity   to    display   his   talents. 

He  considered  them  mere  interloping  mon- 

[  70] 


The  Adventure  in  Automobiles 

strosities.  As  we  started  homeward,  the 
chauffeur  was  on  his  back  in  the  road,  with 
his  head  and  arms  under  his  automobile, 
working  hard,  and  swearing  softly. 

I  did  not  see  Perkins  again  for  about  four 
months,  and  when  I  did  see  him,  I  tried  to 
avoid  him;  for  I  was  seated  in  my  auto- 
mobile, which  I  had  just  purchased.  I  feared 
that  Perkins  might  think  my  purchase  was 
disloyal  to  him,  knowing,  as  I  did,  his  dis- 
like for  automobiles;  but  he  hailed  me  with 
a  cheery  cry. 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  automo- 
bile! The  greatest  product  of  man's  ingen- 
ious brain!  The  mechanical  triumph  of  the 
twentieth  century!  Useful,  ornamental,  prof- 
itable !  " 

"  Perky !  "  I  cried,  for  I  could  scarcely 
believe  my  ears.  "Is  it  possible  ?  Have 
you  so  soon  changed  your  idea  of  the  auto  ? 
That  isn't  like  you,  Perky!  " 

He  caught  his  thumbs  in  the  armholes 
of  his  vest,  and  waved  his  fingers  slowly 
back  and  forth.  "  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  Per- 
kins of  Portland  conquers  all  things!  Else 
why   is   he   known   as    Perkins   the   Great  ? 

[  71  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


Genius,  my  boy,  wins  out.  Before  genius 
the  automobile  bows  down  like  the  camel, 
and  takes  aboard  the  advertisement.  Per- 
kins has  conquered  the  automobile !  " 

I  looked  over  my  auto  carefully.  I  had 
no  desire  to  be  a  travelling  advertisement 
even  to  please  my  friend  Perkins.  But  I 
could  notice  nothing  in  the  promotion  and 
publicity  line  about  my  automobile.  I  held 
out  my  hand.  "  Perkins,"  I  said  heartily, 
"  I  congratulate  you.    Is  there  money  in  it  ?  " 

He  glowed  with  pleasure.  "  Money  ?  " 
he  cried.  "  Loads  of  it.  Thousands  for 
Perkins  —  thousands  for  the  automobile- 
makers  —  huge  boom  for  the  advertiser ! 
Perkins  put  it  to  the  auto-makers  like  this: 
1  You  make  automobiles.  All  right.  I'll 
pay  you  for  space  on  them.  Just  want  room 
for  four  words,  but  must  be  on  every  auto- 
mobile sent  out.  Perkins  will  pay  well.' 
Result  —  contract  with  every  maker.  Then 
to  the  advertiser :  l  Mr.  Advertiser,  I  have 
space  on  every  automobile  to  be  made  by 
leading  American  factories  for  next  five 
years.    Price,  $100,000! '    Advertiser  jumped 

at  it !    And  there  you  are !  " 

[  72  ] 


The  Adventure  in  Automobiles 

I  do  not  know  whether  Perkins  meant 
his  last  sentence  as  a  finale  to  his  explana- 
tion or  as  a  scoff  at  my  automobile.  In 
either  case  I  was  certainly  "  there,"  for  my 
auto  took  one  of  those  unaccountable  fits, 
and  would  not  move.  I  dismounted  and 
walked  around  the  machine  with  a  critical, 
inquiring  eye.  I  poked  gingerly  into  its 
ribs  and  exposed  vitals;  lifted  up  lids;  turned 
thumb-screws,  and  shook  everything  that 
looked  as  if  its  working  qualities  would  be 
improved  by  a  little  shaking,  but  my  auto- 
mobile continued  to  balk. 

A  few  small  boys  suggested  that  I  try 
coaxing  it  with  a  lump  of  sugar  or  building 
a  fire  under  it,  or  some  of  the  other  remedies 
for  balking  animals;  but  Perkins  stood  by 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  smiled.  He 
seemed  to  be  expecting  something. 

I  am  not  proud,  and  I  have  but  little  fear 

of  ridicule,  but  a  man  is  only  human.    Fifth 

Avenue  is  not  exactly  the  place  where  a  man 

wishes  to  lie  on  the  flat  of  his  back.    To  be 

explicit,  I  may  say  that  when  I  want  to  lie 

on  my  back  in  the  open  air,  I  prefer  to  lie 

on  a  grassy  hillside,  with  nothing  above  me 

[73] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


but  the  blue  sky,  rather  than  on  the  asphalt 
pavement  of  Fifth  Avenue,  with  the  engine- 
room  of  an  automobile  half  a  foot  above 
my  face. 

Perkins  smiled  encouragingly.  The  crowd 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  me  to  do  it.  I  felt, 
myself,  that  I  should  have  to  do  it.  So  I 
assumed  the  busy,  intense,  oblivious,  hard- 
ened expression  that  is  part  of  the  game, 
and  lay  down  on  the  top  of  the  street.  Per- 
sonally, I  did  not  feel  that  I  was  doing  it  as 
gracefully  as  I  might  after  more  practice; 
but  the  crowd  were  not  exacting.  They  even 
cheered  me,  which  was  kind  of  them;  but 
it  did  not  relieve  me  of  the  idiotic  sensation 
of  going  to  bed  in  public  with  my  clothes  on. 

If  I  had  not  been  such  an  amateur  I  should 
doubtless  have  done  it  better;  but  it  was 
disconcerting,  after  getting  safely  on  my 
back,  to  find  that  I  was  several  feet  away 
from  my  automobile.  I  think  it  was  then 
that  I  swore,  but  I  am  not  sure.  I  know  I 
swore  about  that  time;  but  whether  it  was 
just  then,  or  while  edging  over  to  the  auto- 
mobile, I  cannot  positively  say. 

I  remember  making  up  my  mind  to  swear 

[  74] 


"don't  swear!    drink  glenguzzle  !  v 


The  Adventure  in  Automobiles 

again  as  soon  as  I  got  my  head  and  chest 
under  the  automobile,  not  because  I  am  a 
swearing  man,  but  to  impress  the  crowd 
with  the  fact  that  I  was  not  there  because 
I  liked  it.  I  wanted  them  to  think  I  detested 
it.  I  did  detest  it.  But  I  did  not  swear.  As 
my  eyes  looked  upward  for  the  first  time  at 
the  underneath  of  my  automobile,  I  saw 
this  legend  painted  upon  it :  "  Don't  swear. 
Drink  Glenguzzle." 

Peering  out  from  under  my  automobile, 
I  caught  Perkins's  eye.  It  was  bright  and 
triumphant.  I  looked  about  and  across  the 
avenue    I  saw  another  automobile  standing. 

As  I  look  back,  I  think  the  crowd  may 
have  been  justified  in  thinking  me  insane. 
At  any  rate,  they  crossed  the  avenue  with 
me,  and  applauded  me  when  I  lay  down 
under  the  other  man's  automobile.  When 
I  emerged,  they  called  my  attention  to  sev- 
eral other  automobiles  that  were  standing 
near,  and  were  really  disappointed  when  I 
refused  to  lie  down  under  them. 

I  did  refuse,  however,  for  I  had  seen  enough. 
This  automobile  also  bore  on  its  underside 
the    words :     "  Don't    swear.      Drink    Glen- 

[75] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


guzzle."  And  I  was  willing  to  believe  that 
they  were  on  all  the  automobiles. 

I  walked  across  the  avenue  again  and 
shook  hands  with  Perkins.  "  It's  great!  " 
I  said,  enthusiastically. 

Perkins  nodded.  He  knew  what  I  meant. 
He  knew  I  appreciated  his  genius.  In  my 
mind's  eye  I  saw  thousands  and  thousands 
of  automobiles,  in  all  parts  of  our  great  land, 
and  all  of  them  standing  patiently  while 
men  lay  on  their  backs  under  them,  looking 
upward  and  wanting  to  swear.  It  was  a 
glorious  vision.    I  squeezed  Perkins's  hand. 

"  It's  glorious !  "  I  exclaimed. 


[  76] 


VI 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  POET 

'BOUT  the  time  Perkins  and 
I  were  booming  our  justly 
famous  Codliver  Capsules,  — 
you  know  them,  of  course, 
"  sales,  ten  million  boxes  a 
year,"  —  I    met    Kate.      She 

was  sweet  and  pink  as  the  Codliver  Capsules. 

You  recall  the  verse  that  went :  — 

"  *  Pretty  Polly,  do  you  think, 
Blue  is  prettier,  or  pink  ? ' 
'Pink,  sir,'  Polly  said,  '  by  far; 
Thus  Codliver  Capsules  are.'  " 

You  see,  we  put  them  up  in  pink  capsules. 
"  The  pink  capsules  for  the  pale  corpuscles." 
Perkins  invented  the  phrase.  It  was  worth 
forty  thousand  dollars  to  us.  Wonderful 
man,  Perkins! 

But,  as  I  remarked,  Kate  was  as  sweet 

and  pink  as  Codliver  Capsules;    but  she  was 

harder   to   take.     So   hard,   in  fact,   that   I 

[77  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


couldn't  seem  to  take  her;  and  the  one  thing 
I  wanted  most  was  to  take  her  —  away  from 
her  home  and  install  her  in  one  of  my  own. 
I  seemed  destined  to  come  in  second  in  a 
race  where  there  were  only  two  starters, 
and  in  love-affairs  you  might  as  well  be  dis- 
tanced as  second  place.  The  fellow  who 
had  the  preferred  location  next  pure  reading- 
matter  in  Kate's  heart  was  a  poet. 

In  any  ordinary  business  I  will  back  an 
advertising  man  against  a  poet  every  time, 
but  this  love  proposition  is  a  case  of  guess 
at  results.  You  can't  key  your  ad.  nor  guar- 
antee your  circulation  one  day  ahead;  and, 
just  as  likely  as  not,  some  low-grade  mail- 
order dude  will  step  in,  and  take  the  con- 
tract away  from  a  million-a-month  home 
journal  with  a  three-color  cover.  There  I 
was,  a  man  associated  with  Perkins  the 
Great,  with  a  poet  of  our  own  on  our  staff, 
cut  out  by  a  poet,  and  a  Chicago  poet  at 
that.    You  can  guess  how  high-grade  he  was. 

The  more  I  worked  my  follow-up  system 
of  bonbons  and  flowers,  the  less  chance  I 
seemed  to  have  with  Kate;  and  the  reason 
was  that  she  was  a  poetry  fiend.      You  know 

[  78] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Poet 

the  sort  of  girl.  First  thing  she  does  when 
she  meets  you  is  to  smile  and  say :  "So 
glad  to  meet  you.    Who's  your  favorite  poet  ?  " 

She  pretty  nearly  stumped  me  when  she 
got  that  off  on  me.  I  don't  know  a  poem 
from  a  hymn- tune.  I'm  not  a  literary  char- 
acter. If  you  hand  me  anything  with  all 
the  lines  jagged  on  one  end  and  headed  with 
capital  letters  on  the  other  end,  I'll  take  it 
for  as  good  as  anything  in  the  verse  line  that 
Longfellow  ever  wrote.  So  when  she  asked 
me  the  countersign,  "  Who's  your  favorite 
poet  ? "  I  gasped,  and  then,  by  a  lucky 
chance,  I  got  my  senses  back  in  time  to  say 
"  Biggs  "  before  she  dropped  me. 

When  I  said  Biggs,  she  looked  dazed.  I 
had  run  in  a  poet  she  had  never  heard  of, 
and  she  thought  I  was  the  real  thing  in  poetry 
lore.  I  never  told  her  that  Biggs  was  the 
young  man  we  had  at  the  office  doing  poems 
about  the  Codliver  Capsules,  but  I  couldn't  live 
up  to  my  start;  and,  whenever  she  started 
on  the  poetry  topic,  I  side-stepped  to  adver- 
tising talk.  I  was  at  home  there,  but  you 
can't  get  in  as  much  soulful  gaze  when  you 
are  talking  about  how  good  the  ads*  in  the 

[  79] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"  Home  Weekly  "  are  as  when  you  are  re- 
citing sonnets;  so  the  poet  walked  away 
from  me.  I  got  Kate  to  the  point  where, 
when  I  handed  her  a  new  magazine,  she 
would  look  through  the  advertising  pages 
first;  but  she  did  not  seem  to  enthuse  over 
the  Codliver  Capsule  pages  any  more  than 
over  the  Ivory  Soap  pages,  and  I  knew  her 
heart  was  not  mine. 

When  I  began  to  get  thin,  Perkins  noticed 
it,  —  he  always  noticed  everything,  —  and 
I  laid  the  whole  case  before  him.  He  smiled 
disdainfully.  He  laid  his  hand  on  my  arm 
and  spoke. 

"  Why  mourn  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Why  mope  ? 
Why  fear  a  poet  ?  Fight  fire  with  fire ;  fight 
poetry  with  poetry!  Why  knuckle  down  to 
a  little  amateur  poet  when  Perkins  &  Co. 
have  a  professional  poet  working  six  days 
a  week  ?    Use  Biggs." 

He  said  "  Use  Biggs  "  just  as  he  would 
have  said  "  Use  Codliver  Capsules."  It  was 
Perkins's  way  to  go  right  to  the  heart  of 
things  without  wasting  words.  He  talked 
in  telegrams.  He  talked  in  caps,  double 
leaded.     I  grasped  his  hand,  for  I  saw  his 

[80  j 


The  Adventure  of  the  Poet 

meaning.  I  was  saved  —  or  at  least  Kate 
was  nailed.    The  expression  is  Perkins's. 

"  Kate — hate,  Kate — wait,  Kate — mate,"  he 
said,  glowingly.  "  Good  rhymes.  Biggs  can 
do  the  rest.  We  will  nail  Kate  with  poems. 
Biggs,"  he  said,  turning  to  our  poet,  "  make 
some  nails." 

Biggs  was  a  serious-minded  youth,  with 
a  large,  bulgy  forehead  in  front,  and  a  large 
bald  spot  at  the  back  of  his  head,  which 
seemed  to  be  yearning  to  join  the  forehead. 
He  was  the  most  conceited  donkey  I  ever 
knew,  but  he  did  good  poetry.  I  can't  say 
that  he  ever  did  anything  as  noble  as,  — 

"  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster 
Makes  all  pains  and  aches  fly  faster," 

but  that  was  written  by  the  immortal  Perkins 
himself.  It  was  Biggs  who  wrote  the  charm- 
ing verse,  <— 

"  When  corpuscles  are  thin  and  white, 
Codliver  Capsules  set  them  right," 

and  that  other  great  hit,  — 

'*  When  appetite  begins  to  fail 

And  petty  woes  unnerve  us, 

When  joy  is  fled  and  life  is  stale, 

The  Pink  Capsules  preserve  us. 
[81  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"  When  doubts  and  cares  distress  the  mind 
And  daily  duties  bore  us, 
At  fifty  cents  per  box  we  find 
The  Pink  Capsules  restore  us." 

You  can  see  that  an  amateur  poet  who 
wrote  such  rot  as  the  following  to  Kate 
would  not  be  in  the  same  class  whatever :  — 

TO  KATE 

"Your  lips  are  like  cherries 
All  sprinkled  with  dew  ; 
Your  eyes  are  like  diamonds, 
Sparkling  and  true. 

"  Your  teeth  are  like  pearls  in 
A  casket  of  roses, 
And  nature  has  found  you 
The  dearest  of  noses." 

I  had  Kate  copy  that  for  me,  and  I  gave 

it  to  Biggs  to  let  him  see  what  he  would 

have  to  beat.     He  looked  at  it  and  smiled. 

He    flipped    over    the    pages    of    "  Munton's 

Magazine,"  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink,  and 

in  two  minutes  handed  me  this :  — 

TO  KATE 

"  Your  lips  are  like  Lowney's 
Bonbons,  they're  so  sweet ; 
Your  eyes  shine  like  pans 
That  Pearline  has  made  neat. 

[  82  ] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Poet 


"  Your  teeth  are  like  Ivory 
Soap,  they're  so  white, 
And  your  nose,  like  Pink  Capsules, 
Is  simply  all  right !  " 

I  showed  it  to  Perkins,  and  asked  him 
how  he  thought  it  would  do.  He  read  it 
over  and  shook  his  head. 

"  0.  K.,"  he  said,  "  except  Ivory  Soap 
for  teeth.  Don't  like  the  idea.  Suggests 
Kate  may  be  foaming  at  the  mouth  next. 
Cut  it  out  and  say :  — 

"  *  Your  soul  is  like  Ivory 
Soap,  it's  so  white.' " 

I  sent  the  poem  to  Kate  by  the  next  mail, 
and  that  evening  I  called.  She  was  very 
much  pleased  with  the  poem,  and  said  it 
was  witty,  and  just  what  she  might  have 
expected  from  me.  She  said  it  did  not  have 
as  much  soul  as  Tennyson's  "  In  Memo- 
riam,"  but  that  it  was  so  different,  one  could 
hardly  compare  the  two.  She  suggested 
that  the  first  line  ought  to  be  illustrated. 
So  the  next  morning  I  sent  up  a  box  of  bon- 
bons, —  just  as  an  illustration. 

"  Now,  Biggs,"  I  said,  "  we  have  made 
a  good  start;    and  we  want  to  keep  things 

[83  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


going.  What  we  want  now  is  a  poem  that 
will  go  right  to  the  spot.  Something  that 
will  show  on  the  face  of  it  that  it  was  meant 
for  her,  and  for  no  one  else.  The  first  effort 
is  all  right,  but  it  might  have  been  written 
for  any  girl." 

"Then,"  said  Biggs,  "you'll  have  to  tell 
me  how  you  stand  with  her,  so  I  can  have 
something  to  lay  hold  on." 

I  told  him  as  much  as  I  could,  just  as  I 
had  told  my  noble  Perkins;  and  Biggs  dug 
in,  and  in  a  half -hour  handed  me :  — 

THE  GIRL  I  LOVE 

"  I  love  a  maid,  and  shall  I  tell  you  why  ? 
It  is  not  only  that  her  soulful  eye 
Sets  my  heart  beating  at  so  huge  a  rate 
That  I'm  appalled  to  feel  it  palpitate ; 
No !  though  her  eye  has  power  to  conquer  mine, 
And  fill  my  breast  with  feelings  most  divine, 
Another  thing  my  heart  in  love  immersed  — 
Kate  reads  the  advertising  pages  first  2 

"  A  Sunday  paper  comes  to  her  fair  hand 
Teeming  with  news  of  every  foreign  land, 
With  social  gossip,  fashions  new  and  rare, 
And  politics  and  scandal  in  good  share, 
With  verse  and  prose  and  pictures,  and  the  lore 
Of  witty  writers  in  a  goodly  corps, 

[84] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Poet 


Wit,  wisdom,  humor,  all  things  interspersed  — 
Kate  reads  the  advertising  pages  first ! 

"  The  magazine,  in  brilliant  cover  bound, 
Into  her  home  its  welcome  way  has  found, 
But,  ere  she  reads  the  story  of  the  trust, 
Or  tale  of  bosses,  haughty  and  unjust, 
Or  tale  of  love,  or  strife,  or  pathos  deep 
That  makes  the  gentle  maiden  shyly  weep, 
Or  strange  adventures  thrillingly  rehearsed, 
Kate  reads  the  advertising  pages  first! 

"  Give  me  each  time  the  maid  with  such  a  mind, 
The  maid  who  is  superior  to  her  kind  ; 
She  feels  the  pulse-beats  of  the  world  of  men, 
The  power  of  the  advertiser's  pen  ; 
She  knows  that  fact  more  great  than  fiction  is, 
And  that  the  nation's  life-blood  is  its  'biz.» 
I  love  the  maid  who  woman's  way  reversed 
And  reads  the  advertising  pages  first  I " 

"  Now,  there,"  said  Biggs,  "  is  something 
that  ought  to  nail  her  sure.  It  is  one  of  the 
best  things  I  have  ever  done.  I  am  a  poet, 
and  I  know  good  poetry  when  I  see  it;  and 
I  give  you  my  word  that  is  the  real  article." 

I  took  Biggs's  word  for  it,  and  I  think  he 
was  right;  but  he  had  forgotten  to  tell  me 
that  it  was  a  humorous  poem,  and  when  Kate 
laughed  over  it,  I  was  a  little  surprised.    I 

[85] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


don't  know  that  I  exactly  expected  her  to  weep 
over  it,  but  to  me  it  seemed  to  be  a  rather 
soulful  sort  of  thing  when  I  read  it.  I  thought 
there  were  two  or  three  quite  touching  lines. 
But  it  worked  well  enough.  She  and  her 
poet  laughed  over  it;  and,  as  it  seemed  the 
right  thing  to  do,  I  screwed  up  my  face  and 
ha-ha'd  a  little,  too,  and  it  went  off  very 
well.  Kate  told  me  again  that  I  was  a  genius, 
and  her  poet  assured  me  that  he  would  never 
have  thought  of  writing  a  poem  anything 
like  it. 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Biggs,  when  I  had  re- 
ported progress,  "  we  want  to  keep  follow- 
ing this  thing  right  up.  System  is  the  whole 
thing.  You  have  told  her  how  nice  she  is 
in  No.  i,  and  given  a  reason  why  she  is  loved 
in  No.  2.  What  we  want  to  do  is  to  give  her 
in  No.  3  a  reason  why  she  should  like  you. 
Has  she  ever  spoken  of  Codliver  Capsules  ?  " 

So  far  as  I  could  remember  she  had  not. 

"That  is  good,"  said  Biggs;  "very  good, 
indeed.  She  probably  doesn't  identify  you 
with  them  yet,  or  she  would  have  thrown 
herself  at  your  head  long  ago.  We  don't 
want  to  brag  about  it  —  not  yet.     We  want 

[86] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Poet 

to  break  it  to  her  gently.  We  want  to  be 
humble  and  undeserving.  You  must  be  a 
worm,  so  to  speak." 

"  Biggs,"  I  said,  with  dignity,  "  I  don't 
propose  to  be  a  worm,  so  to  speak." 

"  But,"  he  pleaded,  "  you  must.  It's 
only  poetic  license." 

That  was  the  first  I  knew  that  poets  had 
to  be  licensed.  But  I  don't  wonder  they 
have  to  be.  Even  a  dog  has  to  be  licensed, 
these  days. 

"  You  must  be  the  humble  worm,"  con- 
tinued Biggs, "  so  that  later  on  you  can  blos- 
som forth  into  the  radiant  conquering  but- 
terfly." 

I  didn't  like  that  any  better.  I  showed 
Biggs  that  worms  don't  blossom.  Plants 
blossom.  And  butterflies  don't  conquer. 
And  worms  don't  turn  into  butterflies  — 
caterpillars  do. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Biggs,  "  you  must  be 
the  humble  caterpillar,  then." 

I  told  him  I  would  rather  be  a  caterpillar 
than  a  worm  any  day;  and  after  we  had 
argued  for  half  an  hour  on  whether  it  was  any 
better  to  be  a  caterpillar  than  to  be  a  worm, 

[  87  1 


Perkins  of  Portland 


Biggs  remembered  that  it  was  only  meta- 
phorically speaking,  after  all,  and  that  noth- 
ing would  be  said  about  worms  or  caterpil- 
lars in  the  poem,  and  he  got  down  to  work 
on  No.  3.  When  he  had  it  done,  he  put  his 
feet  on  his  desk  and  read  it  to  me.    He  called  it 

HUMBLE  MERIT 

"  No  prince  nor  poet  proud  am  I, 
Nor  scion  of  an  ancient  clan ; 
I  cannot  place  my  rank  so  high  — 
I'm  the  Codliver  Capsule  Man. 

"  No  soulful  sonnets  I  indite, 

Nor  do  I  play  the  pipes  of  Pan  ; 
In  five  small  words  my  place  I  write  — 
I'm  the  Codliver  Capsule  Man. 

"  No  soldier  bold,  with  many  scars, 
Nor  hacking,  slashing  partisan  ; 
I  have  not  galloped  to  the  wars  — 
I'm  the  Codliver  Capsule  Man. 

"  No,  mine  is  not  the  wounding  steel, 
My  life  is  on  a  gentler  plan ; 
My  mission  is  to  cure  and  heal  — 
I'm  the  Codliver  Capsule  Man. 

M  I  do  not  cause  the  poor  distress 
By  hoarding  all  the  gold  I  can  ; 

[  88] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Poet 

I,  advertising,  pay  the  press  — 
I'm  the  Codliver  Capsule  Man. 

"  And  if  no  sonnets  I  can  write, 
Pray  do  not  put  me  under  ban  ; 
Remember,  if  your  blood  turns  white, 
I'm  the  Codliver  Capsule  Man  !  " 

"  Well,"  asked  Biggs,  the  morning  after 
I  had  delivered  the  poem,  "  how  did  she 
take  it  ?  " 

I  looked  at  Biggs  suspiciously.  If  I  had 
seen  a  glimmer  of  an  indication  that  he  was 
fooling  with  me,  I  would  have  killed  him; 
but  he  seemed  to  be  perfectly  serious. 

"  Was  that  poem  intended  to  be  humor- 
ous ?  "  I  asked. 

"Why,  yes!  Yes!  Certainly  so,"  Biggs 
replied.  "  At  least  it  was  supposed  to  be 
witty;  to  provoke  a  smile  and  good  humor 
at  least." 

"  Then,  Biggs,"  I  said,  "  it  was  a  glorious 
success.  They  smiled.  They  smiled  right 
out  loud.  In  fact,  they  shouted.  The  poet 
and  I  had  to  pour  water  on  Kate  to  get  her 
out  of  the  hysterics.  It  is  all  right,  of  course, 
to  be  funny;  but  the  next  time  don't  be  so 
awful  funny.     It  is  not  worth  while.     I  like 

[89] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


to  see  Kate  laugh,  if  it  helps  my  cause;  but 
I  don't  want  to  have  her  die  of  laughter. 
It  would  defeat  my  ends." 

"  That  is  so,"  said  Biggs,  thoughtfully. 
"  Did  she  say  anything  ?  " 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "when  she  was  able  to 
speak,  she  asked  me  if  the  poem  was  a  love 
poem." 

"  What  did  you  tell  her  ?  "  asked  Biggs, 
and  he  leaned  low  over  his  desk,  turning 
over  papers. 

"  I  told  her  it  was,"  I  replied;  "  and  she 
said  that  if  any  one  was  looking  for  a  genius 
to  annex  to  the  family,  they  ought  not  to 
miss  the  chance." 

"Ah,  ha!"  said  Biggs,  proudly;  "what 
did  I  tell  you  ?  You  humbled  yourself.  You 
said,  *  See !  I  am  only  the  lowly  Codliver 
Capsule  man; '  but  you  said  it  so  cleverly, 
so  artistically,  that  you  gave  the  impression 
that  you  were  a  genius.  You  see  what  rapid 
strides  you  are  making  ?  Now  here,"  he 
added,  taking  a  paper  from  his  desk,  "  is 
No.  4,  in  which  you  gracefully  and  poetically 
come  to  the  point  of  showing  her  your  real 
standing.      You    have    been    humble  —  now 

[  90] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Poet 

you  assert  yourself  in  your  real  colors.  When 
she  reads  this  she  will  begin  to  see  that  you 
wish  to  make  her  your  wife,  for  no  man 
states  his  prospects  thus  clearly  unless  he 
means  to  propose  soon.  You  will  see  that 
she  will  be  ready  to  drop  into  your  hand  like 
a  ripe  peach  from  a  bough.  I  have  called 
this  '  Little  Drops  of  Water.'  " 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  I  said.  "  If  this  is 
going  to  have  anything  about  the  Codliver 
Capsules  in  it,  don't  you  think  the  title  is 
just  a  little  suggestive  ?  You  know  our  for- 
mula. Don't  you  think  that  i  Little  Drops  of 
Water  '  is  rather  letting  out  a  trade  secret  ?  " 

Biggs  smiled  sarcastically. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  said.  "  The  suggestion 
I  intended  to  make  was  that  '  Little  drops 
of  water,  Little  grains  of  sand,  Make  the 
mighty  ocean,'  etc.  But  if  you  wish,  we  will 
call  it  '  Many  a  Mickle  makes  a  Muckle  ';  " 
and  he  read  the  following  poem  in  a  clear, 
steady  voice :  — 

"  How  small  is  a  Codliver  Capsule, 
And  ten  of  them  put  in  each  box  ! 
And  the  boxes  and  labels  cost  something  — 
No  wonder  that  Ignorance  mocks  ! 
[  91  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"How  cheap  are  the  Codliver  Capsules  ; 
Two  boxes  one  dollar  will  buy  ! 
One  Capsule  costs  only  a  nickel  — 
The  price  is  considered  not  high. 

"  Well  known  are  the  Codliver  Capsules,  — 
We  herald  their  fame  everywhere  ; 
And  costly  is  our  advertising, 
But  Perkins  &  Co.  do  not  care. 

"  We  spend  on  the  Codliver  Capsules, 
To  advertise  them,  every  year, 
A  Million  cold  Uncle  Sam  dollars  — 
I  hope  you  will  keep  this  point  clear. 

"  How,  then,  can  the  Codliver  Capsules, 
Which  bring  but  a  nickel  apiece, 
Yield  us  on  our  invested  money 
A  single  per  cent,  of  increase  ? 

"  How  ?    We  sell  of  the  Codliver  Capsules 
Full  four  million  boxes  a  year, 
Which,  at  fifty  cents  each,  gives  a  total 
Of  two  million  dollars,  my  dear. 

"  You  see  that  the  Codliver  Capsules, 
When  all  advertising  is  paid, 
Net  us  just  a  million  of  dollars, 
From  which  other  costs  are  defrayed. 

"  Less  these,  then,  the  Codliver  Capsules 

Net  five  hundred  thousand  of  good, 

Cold,  useful  American  dollars  — 

A  point  I  would  have  understood. 
[92] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Poet 


"And who  owns  the  Codliver  Capsules? 
Two  partners  in  Perkins  &  Co. 
One-half  of  the  five  hundred  thousand 
To  Perkins  the  Great  must  then  go. 

"  And  the  rest  of  the  Codliver  Capsules 
Belong  to  your  servant,  my  sweet, 
And  these,  with  my  love  and  devotion, 
I  hasten  to  lay  at  your  feet." 

When  I  read  this  pretty  poem  to  Kate,  she 
began  laughing  at  the  first  line,  and  I  kept  my 
eye  on  the  water-pitcher,  in  case  I  should  need 
it  again  to  quell  her  hysterics;  but,  as  I 
proceeded  with  the  poem,  she  became  thought- 
ful. When  I  had  finished,  her  poet  was 
laughing  uproariously ;  but  Kate  was  silent. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  she  said,  "  that  out  of 
these  funny  little  pink  things  you  make  for 
yourself  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars  a  year  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  I  said.  "  Didn't  you  under- 
stand that  ?    I'll  read  the  poem  again." 

"  No !  no !  "  she  exclaimed,  glancing  hur- 
riedly at  the  poet,  who  was  still  rolled  up 
with  laughter.  "  Don't  do  that.  I  don't 
like  it  as  well  as  your  other  poems.  I  do  not 
think  it  is  half  so  funny,  and  I  can't  see  what 

[  93] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


Mr.  Milward  there  sees  in  it  that  is  so  humor- 
ous." 

My  face  must  have  fallen;  for  I  had  put 
a  great  deal  of  faith  in  this  poem,  because 
of  what  Biggs  had  said.    Kate  saw  it. 

"  You  are  not  a  real  poet,"  she  said  as 
gently  as  she  could.  "  You  lack  the  true 
celestial  fire.  Your  poems  all  savor  of  those 
I  read  in  the  street-cars.  Poets  are  born, 
and  not  made.  The  true  poet  is  a  noble  soul, 
floating  above  the  heads  of  common  mor- 
tals, destined  to  live  alone,  unmated  and 
unmarried  —  " 

Mr.  Milward  sat  up  suddenly  and  ceased 
laughing. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Kate,  "  I  must  ask 
you  both  to  excuse  me,  for  I  am  very  tired." 

But  what  do  you  think!  As  I  was  bow- 
ing good-night,  while  her  poet  was  strug- 
gling into  his  rubber  overshoes,  she  whispered, 
so  that  only  I  could  hear :  — 

"  Come  up  to-morrow  evening.  I  will  be 
all  alone !  " 

When,  two  days  later,  I  told  Perkins  of 

my  engagement,  he  only  said :  — 

"  Pays  to  advertise." 

[94] 


VII 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  CRIMSON 

CORD 


XHAD  not  seen  Perkins  for  six 
months  or  so,  and  things  were 
dull.    I  was  beginning  to  tire 
of    sitting    indolently    in    my 
office,    with    nothing    to     do 
but    clip    coupons    from    my 
bonds.     Money  is  good  enough  in  its  way, 
but  it  is  not  interesting   unless  it  is  doing 
something    lively  —  doubling    itself    or    get- 
ting lost.    What  I  wanted  was  excitement,  — 
an  adventure,  —  and  I  knew  that  if  I  could 
find  Perkins,  I  could  have  both.     A  scheme 
is   a   business    adventure,    and    Perkins   was 
the  greatest  schemer  in  or  out  of  Chicago. 
Just  then  Perkins  walked  into  my  office. 
"  Perkins,"  I  said,  as  soon  as  he  had  ar- 

[  95] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


ranged  his  feet  comfortably  on  my  desk, 
"  I'm  tired.  I'm  restless.  I  have  been  wish- 
ing for  you  for  a  month.  I  want  to  go  into 
a  big  scheme,  and  make  a  lot  of  new,  up-to- 
date  cash.  I'm  sick  of  this  tame,  old  cash 
that  I  have.  It  isn't  interesting.  No  cash 
is  interesting  except  the  coming  cash." 

"  I'm  with  you,"  said  Perkins ;  "  what  is 
your  scheme  ?  " 

"  I  have  none,"  I  said  sadly.  "  That  is 
just  my  trouble.  I  have  sat  here  for  days 
trying  to  think  of  a  good,  practical  scheme, 
but  I  can't.  I  don't  believe  there  is  an  unworked 
scheme  in  the  whole  wide,  wide  world." 

Perkins  waved  his  hand. 

"  My  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  "  there  are 
millions!  You've  thousands  of  'em  right 
here  in  your  office !  You're  falling  over  them, 
sitting  on  them,  walking  on  them !  Schemes  ? 
Everything  is  a  scheme.  Everything  has 
money  in  it !  " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  for  you.  But  you  are 
a  genius." 

"  Genius,  yes,"  Perkins  said,  smiling  cheer- 
fully, "  else  why  Perkins  the  Great  ?     Why 

[  96] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord 

Perkins  the  Originator  ?    Why  the  Great  and 
Only  Perkins  of  Portland  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  I  said,  "  what  I  want  is  for 
your  genius  to  get  busy.  I'll  give  you  a 
week  to  work  up  a  good  scheme." 

Perkins  pushed  back  his  hat,  and  brought 
his  feet  to  the  floor  with  a  smack. 

"  Why  the  delay  ?  "  he  queried.  "  Time 
is  money.  Hand  me  something  from  your 
desk." 

I  looked  in  my  pigeonholes,  and  pulled 
from  one  a  small  ball  of  string.  Perkins  took 
it  in  his  hand,  and  looked  at  it  with  great 
admiration. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  he  asked  seriously. 

"  That,"  I  said,  humoring  him,  for  I  knew 
something  great  would  be  evolved  from  his 
wonderful  brain,  "  is  a  ball  of  red  twine  I 
bought  at  the  ten-cent  store.  I  bought  it 
last  Saturday.  It  was  sold  to  me  by  a  freckled 
young  lady  in  a  white  shirt-waist.    I  paid  —  " 

"  Stop!  "  Perkins  cried,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

I  looked  at  the  ball  of  twine  curiously. 
I  tried  to  see  something  remarkable  in  it. 
I  couldn't.  It  remained  a  simple  ball  of  red 
twine,  and  I  told  Perkins  so. 

[  97  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"  The  difference,"  declared  Perkins,  "  be- 
tween mediocrity  and  genius!  Mediocrity 
always  sees  red  twine;  genius  sees  a  ball  of 
Crimson  Cord !  " 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  looked 
at  me  triumphantly.  He  folded  his  arms 
as  if  he  had  settled  the  matter.  His  attitude 
seemed  to  say  that  he  had  made  a  fortune 
for  us.  Suddenly  he  reached  forward,  and, 
grasping  my  scissors,  began  snipping  off 
small  lengths  of  the  twine. 

"The  Crimson  Cord!"  he  ejaculated. 
"  What  does  it  suggest  ?  " 

I  told  him  that  it  suggested  a  parcel  from 
the  druggist's.  I  had  often  seen  just  such 
twine  about  a  druggist's  parcel. 

Perkins  sniffed  disdainfully. 

"  Druggists  ? "  he  exclaimed  with  dis- 
gust. "  Mystery !  Blood !  *  The  Crimson 
Cord.'  Daggers!  Murder!  Strangling! 
Clues!    ■  The  Crimson  Cord  ■  —  " 

He  motioned  wildly  with  his  hands,  as 
if  the  possibilities  of  the  phrase  were  quite 
beyond  his  power  of  expression. 

"  It  sounds  like  a  book,"  I  suggested. 

"  Great!  "  cried  Perkins.    "  A  novel!    The 

[98] 


DAGGERS  !  MURDER  !  STRANGLING  !  '' 


The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord 

novel !  Think  of  the  words  '  A  Crimson 
Cord  '  in  blood-red  letters  six  feet  high  on  a 
white  ground  \ "  He  pulled  his  hat  over 
his  eyes,  and  spread  out  his  hands;  and  I 
think  he  shuddered. 

"  Think  of  ■  A  Crimson  Cord,'  "  he  mut- 
tered, "  in  blood-red  letters  on  a  ground  of 
dead,  sepulchral  black,  with  a  crimson  cord 
writhing  through  them  like  a  serpent." 

He  sat  up  suddenly,  and  threw  one  hand 
in  the  air. 

"  Think,"  he  cried,  "  of  the  words  in  black 
on  white,  with  a  crimson  cord  drawn  taut 
across  the  whole  ad.!  " 

He  beamed  upon  me. 

"  The  cover  of  the  book,"  he  said  quite 
calmly,  "  will  be  white,  —  virgin,  spotless 
white,  —  with  black  lettering,  and  the  cord 
in  crimson.  With  each  copy  we  will  give 
a  crimson  silk  cord  for  a  book-mark.  Each 
copy  will  be  done  up  in  a  white  box  and  tied 
with  crimson  cord." 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  tilted  his  head 
upward. 

"  A  thick  book,"  he  said,  "  with  deckel 
edges  and  pictures  by  Christy.     No,  pictures 

[99] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


by  Pyle.  Deep,  mysterious  pictures!  Shad- 
ows and  gloom!  And  wide,  wide  margins. 
And  a  gloomy  foreword.  One-fifty  per  copy, 
at  all  booksellers." 

Perkins  opened  his  eyes  and  set  his  hat 
straight  with  a  quick  motion  of  his  hand. 
He  arose  and  pulled  on  his  gloves. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Contracts !  "  he  said.  "  Contracts  for 
advertising !  We  must  boom  '  The  Crimson 
Cord!'    We  must  boom  her  big!  " 

He  went  out  and  closed  the  door.  Pres- 
ently, when  I  supposed  him  well  on  the  way 
down-town,  he  opened  the  door  and  inserted 
his  head. 

"  Gilt  tops,"  he  announced.  "  One  mil- 
lion copies  the  first  impression!  " 

And  then  he  was  gone. 

II 

A  week  later  Chicago  and  the  greater  part 
of  the  United  States  was  placarded  with 
"  The  Crimson  Cord."  Perkins  did  his  work 
thoroughly  and  well,  and  great  was  the  in- 
terest in  the  mysterious  title.  It  was  an  old 
dodge,  but  a  good  one.     Nothing  appeared 

[  ioo] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord 

on  the  advertisements  but  the  mere  title. 
No  word  as  to  what  "  The  Crimson  Cord  " 
was.  Perkins  merely  announced  the  words, 
and  left  them  to  rankle  in  the  reader's  mind; 
and  as  a  natural  consequence  each  new 
advertisement  served  to  excite  new  interest. 

When  we  made  our  contracts  for  maga- 
zine advertising,  —  and  we  took  a  full  page 
in  every  worthy  magazine,  —  the  publishers 
were  at  a  loss  to  classify  the  advertisement; 
and  it  sometimes  appeared  among  the  break- 
fast foods,  and  sometimes  sandwiched  in 
between  the  automobiles  and  the  hot-water 
heaters.  Only  one  publication  placed  it  among 
the  books. 

But  it  was  all  good  advertising,  and  Perkins 
was  a  busy  man.  He  racked  his  inventive 
brain  for  new  methods  of  placing  the  title 
before  the  public.  In  fact,  so  busy  was  he 
at  his  labor  of  introducing  the  title,  that  he 
quite  forgot  the  book  itself. 

One  day  he  came  to  the  office  with  a  small 

rectangular   package.     He   unwrapped   it   in 

his  customary  enthusiastic  manner,  and  set 

on  my  desk  a  cigar-box  bound  in  the  style 

he   had   selected   for   the   binding   of   "  The 

[  101  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


Crimson  Cord."  It  was  then  I  spoke  of  the 
advisability  of  having  something  to  the  book 
besides  the  cover  and  a  boom. 

"  Perkins,"  I  said,  "  don't  you  think  it 
is  about  time  we  got  hold  of  the  novel  — 
the  reading,  the  words  ?  " 

For  a  moment  he  seemed  stunned.  It 
was  clear  that  he  had  quite  forgotten  that 
book-buyers  like  to  have  a  little  reading- 
matter  in  their  books.  But  he  was  only  dis- 
mayed for  a  moment. 

"  Tut!  "  he  cried  presently.  "  All  in  good 
time!  The  novel  is  easy.  Anything  will  do. 
I'm  no  literary  man.  I  don't  read  a  book 
in  a  year.    You  get  the  novel." 

"  But  I  don't  read  a  book  in  five  years !  " 
I  exclaimed.  "  I  don't  know  anything  about 
books.    I  don't  know  where  to  get  a  novel." 

"  Advertise !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Advertise ! 
You  can  get  anything,  from  an  apron 
to  an  ancestor,  if  you  advertise  for  it. 
Offer  a  prize  —  offer  a  thousand  dollars  for 
the  best  novel.  There  must  be  thousands 
of  novels  not  in  use." 

Perkins  was  right.  I  advertised  as  he  sug- 
gested,  and   learned   that   there   were   thou- 

[  102  ] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord 

sands  of  novels  not  in  use.  They  came  to 
us  by  basketfuls  and  cartloads.  We  had 
novels  of  all  kinds,  —  historical  and  hys- 
terical, humorous  and  numerous,  but  par- 
ticularly numerous.  You  would  be  sur- 
prised to  learn  how  many  ready-made  novels 
can  be  had  on  short  notice.  It  beats  quick 
lunch.  And  most  of  them  are  equally  in- 
digestible. I  read  one  or  two,  but  I  was  no 
judge  of  novels.  Perkins  suggested  that  we 
draw  lots  to  see  which  we  should  use. 

It  really  made  little  difference  what  the 
story  was  about.  "  The  Crimson  Cord  " 
fits  almost  any  kind  of  a  book.  It  is  a  nice, 
non-committal  sort  of  title,  and  might  mean 
the  guilt  that  bound  two  sinners,  or  the  tie 
of  affection  that  binds  lovers,  or  a  blood  re- 
lationship, or  it  might  be  a  mystification 
title  with  nothing  in  the  book  about  it. 

But  the  choice  settled  itself.  One  morn- 
ing a  manuscript  arrived  that  was  tied  with 
a  piece  of  red  twine,  and  we  chose  that  one 
for  good  luck  because  of  the  twine.  Perkins 
said  that  was  a  sufficient  excuse  for  the  title, 
too.  We  would  publish  the  book  anony- 
mously, and  let  it  be  known  that  the  only 

[  103  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


clue  to  the  writer  was  the  crimson  cord  with 
which  the  manuscript  was  tied  when  we 
received  it.  It  would  be  a  first-class  adver- 
tisement. 

Perkins,  however,  was  not  much  inter- 
ested in  the  story,  and  he  left  me  to  settle 
the  details.  I  wrote  to  the  author  asking 
him  to  call,  and  he  turned  out  to  be  a  young 
woman. 

Our  interview  was  rather  shy.  I  was  a 
little  doubtful  about  the  proper  way  to  talk 
to  a  real  author,  being  purely  a  Chicagoan 
myself;  and  I  had  an  idea  that,  while  my 
usual  vocabulary  was  good  enough  for  busi- 
ness purposes,  it  might  be  too  easy-going 
to  impress  a  literary  person  properly,  and 
in  trying  to  talk  up  to  her  standard  I  had 
to  be  very  careful  in  my  choice  of  words. 
No  publisher  likes  to  have  his  authors  think 
he  is  weak  in  the  grammar  line. 

Miss  Rosa  Belle  Vincent,  however,  was 
quite  as  flustered  as  I  was.  She  seemed  ill 
at  ease  and  anxious  to  get  away,  which  I 
supposed  was  because  she  had  not  often 
conversed  with  publishers  who  paid  a  thou- 
sand dollars  cash  in  advance  for  a  manuscript. 

[  104  ] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord 

She  was  not  at  all  what  I  had  thought  an 
author  would  look  like.  She  didn't  even 
wear  glasses.  If  I  had  met  her  on  the  street 
I  should  have  said,  "  There  goes  a  pretty 
flip  stenographer."  She  was  that  kind  — 
big  picture  hat  and  high  pompadour. 

I  was  afraid  she  would  try  to  run  the  talk 
into  literary  lines  and  Ibsen  and  Gorky, 
where  I  would  have  been  swamped  in  a 
minute,  but  she  didn't;  and,  although  I 
had  wondered  how  to  break  the  subject  of 
money  when  conversing  with  one  who  must 
be  thinking  of  nobler  things,  I  found  she 
was  less  shy  when  on  that  subject  than  when 
talking  about  her  book. 

"  Well,  now,"  I  said,  as  soon  as  I  had 
got  her  seated,  "  we  have  decided  to  buy  this 
novel  of  yours.  Can  you  recommend  it  as 
a  thoroughly  respectable  and  intellectual 
production  ?  " 

She  said  she  could. 

"  Haven't  you  read  it  ? "  she  asked  in 
some  surprise. 

"  No,"  I  stammered.  "  At  least,  not  yet. 
I'm  going  to  as  soon  as  I  can  find  the  requi- 
site leisure.    You  see,  we  are  very  busy  just 

[  105] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


now  —  very  busy.  But  if  you  can  vouch 
for  the  story  being  a  first-class  article,  — 
something,  say,  like  '  The  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field,' or  '  David  Harum,'  —  we'll  take  it." 

"  Now  you're  talking,"  she  said.  "  And 
do  I  get  the  check  now  ?  " 

"  Wait,"  I  said,  "  not  so  fast.  I  have  for- 
gotten one  thing,"  and  I  saw  her  face  fall. 
"  We  want  the  privilege  of  publishing  the 
novel  under  a  title  of  our  own,  and  anony- 
mously. If  that  is  not  satisfactory,  the 
deal  is  off." 

She  brightened  in  a  moment. 

"  It's  a  go,  if  that's  all,"  she  said.  "  Call 
it  whatever  you  please ;  and  the  more  anony- 
mous it  is,  the  better  it  will  suit  yours  truly." 

So  we  settled  the  matter  then  and  there; 
and  when  I  gave  her  our  check  for  a  thou- 
sand, she  said  I  was  all  right. 

m 

Half  an  hour  after  Miss  Vincent  had  left 
the  office,  Perkins  came  in  with  his  arms 
full  of  bundles,  which  he  opened,  spreading 
their  contents  on  my  desk. 

He  had  a  pair  of  suspenders  with  nickel- 

[  106  ] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord 

silver  mountings,  a  tie,  a  lady's  belt,  a  pair 
of  low  shoes,  a  shirt,  a  box  of  cigars,  a  pack- 
age of  cookies,  and  a  half  a  dozen  other 
things  of  divers  and  miscellaneous  char- 
acter. I  poked  them  over  and  examined 
them,  while  he  leaned  against  the  desk  with 
his  legs  crossed.    He  was  beaming  upon  me. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  what  is  it  —  a  bargain 
sale  ?  " 

Perkins  leaned  over  and  tapped  the  pile 
with  his  long  forefinger. 

"  Aftermath!  "  he  crowed.    "  Aftermath!  " 

"  The  dickens  it  is!  "  I  exclaimed.  "  And 
what  has  aftermath  got  to  do  with  this  truck  ? 
It  looks  like  the  aftermath  of  a  notion  store." 

He  tipped  his  "  Air-the-Hair "  hat  over 
one  ear,  and  put  his  thumbs  in  the  armholes 
of  his  "  ready-tailored  "  vest. 

"  Genius !  "  he  announced.  "  Brains ! 
Foresight !  Else  why  Perkins  the  Great  ? 
Why  not  Perkins  the  Nobody  ?  " 

He  raised  the  suspenders  tenderly  from 
the  pile,  and  fondled  them  in  his  hands. 

"  See  this  ?  "  he  asked,  running  his  finger 
along  the  red  corded  edge  of  the  elastic.  He 
took  up  the  tie,  and  ran  his  nail  along  the 

[  107  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


red  stripe  that  formed  the  selvedge  on  the 
back,  and  said,  "  See  this  ?  "  He  pointed 
to  the  red  laces  of  the  low  shoes  and  asked, 
"  See  this  ?  "  And  so  through  the  whole 
collection. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It's  genius ! 
It's  foresight!" 

He  waved  his  hand  over  the  pile. 

"  The  Aftermath!  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  These  suspenders  are  the  Crimson  Cord 
suspenders.  These  shoes  are  the  Crimson 
Cord  shoes.  This  tie  is  the  Crimson  Cord 
tie.  These  crackers  are  the  Crimson  Cord 
brand.  Perkins  &  Co.  get  out  a  great  book, 
*  The  Crimson  Cord ' !  Sell  five  million 
copies.  Dramatized,  it  runs  three  hundred 
nights.  Everybody  talking  Crimson  Cord. 
Country  goes  Crimson  Cord  crazy.  Result  — 
up  jump  Crimson  Cord  this  and  Crimson 
Cord  that.  Who  gets  the  benefit  ?  Perkins 
&  Co.  ?  No !  We  pay  the  advertising  bills, 
and  the  other  man  sells  his  Crimson  Cord 
cigars.    That  is  usual." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I'm  smoking  a  David 
Harum  cigar  this  minute,  and  I  am  wearing 
a  Carvel  collar." 

[  108  ] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord 

"  How  prevent  it  ?  "  asked  Perkins.  "  One 
way  only,  —  discovered  by  Perkins.  Copy- 
right the  words  c  Crimson  Cord  '  as  trade- 
mark for  every  possible  thing.  Sell  the 
trade-mark  on  royalty.  Ten  per  cent,  of 
all  receipts  for  *  Crimson  Cord  '  brands  comes 
to  Perkins  &  Co.  Get  a  cinch  on  the  After- 
math! " 

"  Perkins!  "  I  cried,  "  I  admire  you.  You 
are  a  genius!  And  have  you  contracts  with 
all  these  —  notions  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Perkins,  "  that's  Perkins's 
method.  Who  originated  the  Crimson  Cord  ? 
Perkins  did.  Who  is  entitled  to  the  profits 
on  the  Crimson  Cord  ?  Perkins  is.  Perkins 
is  wide-awake  all  the  time.  Perkins  gets 
a  profit  on  the  aftermath  and  the  math  and 
the  before  the  math." 

And  so  he  did.  He  made  his  new  con- 
tracts with  the  magazines  on  the  exchange 
plan.  We  gave  a  page  of  advertising  in  the 
"  Crimson  Cord  "  for  a  page  of  advertising 
in  the  magazine.  We  guaranteed  five  mil- 
lion circulation.  We  arranged  with  all  the 
manufacturers  of  the  Crimson  Cord  brands 
of   goods  to   give  coupons,   one   hundred   of 

[  109  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


which  entitled  the  holder  to  a  copy  of  "  The 
Crimson  Cord."  With  a  pair  of  Crimson 
Cord  suspenders  you  get  five  coupons;  with 
each  Crimson  Cord  cigar,  one  coupon;  and 
so  on. 

IV 

On  the  first  of  October  we  announced  in 
our  advertisement  that  "  The  Crimson  Cord  " 
was  a  book;  the  greatest  novel  of  the  cen- 
tury; a  thrilling,  exciting  tale  of  love.  Miss 
Vincent  had  told  me  it  was  a  love  story.  Just 
to  make  everything  sure,  however,  I  sent 
the  manuscript  to  Professor  Wiggins,  who 
is  the  most  erudite  man  I  ever  met.  He 
knows  eighteen  languages,  and  reads  Egyp- 
tian as  easily  as  I  read  English.  In  fact, 
his  specialty  is  old  Egyptian  ruins  and  so 
on.    He  has  written  several  books  on  them. 

Professor  said  the  novel  seemed  to  him 
very  light  and  trashy,  but  grammatically 
O.  K.  He  said  he  never  read  novels,  not 
having  time ;  but  he  thought  that  "  The 
Crimson  Cord  "  was  just  about  the  sort  of 
thing  a  silly  public  that  refused  to  buy  his 
"  Some   Light   on   the    Dynastic    Proclivities 

[110] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord 

of  the  Hyksos "  would  scramble  for.  On 
the  whole,  I  considered  the  report  satisfac- 
tory. 

We  found  we  would  be  unable  to  have 
Pyle  illustrate  the  book,  he  being  too  busy, 
so  we  turned  it  over  to  a  young  man  at  the 
Art  Institute. 

That  was  the  fifteenth  of  October,  and  we 
had  promised  the  book  to  the  public  for  the 
first  of  November,  but  we  had  it  already  in 
type ;  and  the  young  man,  —  his  name  was 
Gilkowsky,  —  promised  to  work  night  and 
day  on  the  illustrations. 

The  next  morning,  almost  as  soon  as  I 
reached  the  office,  Gilkowsky  came  in.  He 
seemed  a  little  hesitant,  but  I  welcomed  him 
warmly,  and  he  spoke  up. 

"I  have  a  girl  I  go  with,"  he  said;  and 
I  wondered  what  I  had  to  do  with  Mr.  Gil- 
kowsky's  girl,  but  he  continued :  — 

"  She's  a  nice  girl  and  a  good  looker,  but 

she's  got  bad   taste   in  some  things.     She's 

too  loud  in  hats  and  too  trashy  in  literature. 

I  don't  like  to  say  this  about  her,  but  it's 

true;   and  I'm  trying  to  educate  her  in  good 

hats  and  good  literature.     So  I  thought  it 

[in  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


would  be  a  good  thing  to  take  around  this 
*  Crimson  Cord  '  and  let  her  read  it  to  me." 

I  nodded. 

"  Did  she  like  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

Mr.  Gilkowsky  looked  at  me  closely. 

"  She  did,"  he  said,  but  not  so  enthusi- 
astically as  I  had  expected.  "It's  her  favorite 
book.  Now  I  don't  know  what  your  scheme 
is,  and  I  suppose  you  know  what  you  are 
doing  better  than  I  do;  but  I  thought  per- 
haps I  had  better  come  around  before  I  got 
to  work  on  the  illustrations  and  see  if,  per- 
haps, you  hadn't  given  me  the  wrong  manu- 
script." 

"No,  that  was  the  right  manuscript,"  I 
said.  "  Was  there  anything  wrong  about 
it?" 

Mr.  Gilkowsky  laughed  nervously. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  he  said.  "  But  did  you  read 
it?" 

I  told  him  I  had  not,  because  I  had  been 
so  rushed  with  details  connected  with  ad- 
vertising the  book. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I'll  tell  you.  This  girl 
of  mine  reads  pretty  trashy  stuff,  and  she 
knows  about  all  the  cheap  novels  there  are. 

[  112  ] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord 

She  dotes  on  *  The  Duchess,'  and  puts  her  last 
dime  into  Braddon.  She  knows  them  all 
by  heart.  Have  you  ever  read  *  Lady  Aud- 
ley's  Secret '  ?  " 

"  I  see,"  I  said.  "  One  is  a  sequel  to  the 
other." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Gilkowsky,  "  one  is  the 
other.  Some  one  has  flimflammed  you  and 
sold  you  a  typewritten  copy  of  *  Lady  Aud- 
ley's  Secret '  as  a  new  novel." 

V 

When  I  told  Perkins,  he  merely  remarked 
that  he  thought  every  publishing  house 
ought  to  have  some  one  in  it  who  knew 
something  about  books,  apart  from  the  ad- 
vertising end,  although  that  was,  of  course, 
the  most  important.  He  said  we  might  go 
ahead  and  publish  "  Lady  Audley's  Secret  " 
under  the  title  of  "  The  Crimson  Cord,"  as 
such  things  had  been  done  before;  but  the 
best  thing  to  do  would  be  to  charge  Rosa 
Belle  Vincent's  thousand  dollars  to  profit 
and  loss,  and  hustle  for  another  novel  — 
something  reliable,  and  not  shop-worn. 

Perkins  had  been   studying   the  literature 

[  n3] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


market  a  little,  and  he  advised  me  to  get 
something  from  Indiana  this  time;  so  I 
telegraphed  an  advertisement  to  the  Indian- 
apolis papers,  and  two  days  later  we  had 
ninety-eight  historical  novels  by  Indiana 
authors  from  which  to  choose.  Several  were 
of  the  right  length;  and  we  chose  one,  and 
sent  it  to  Mr.  Gilkowsky,  with  a  request  that 
he  read  it  to  his  sweetheart.  She  had  never 
read  it  before. 

We  sent  a  detective  to  Dillville,  Ind.,  where 
the  author  lived;  and  the  report  we  received 
was  most  satisfactory. 

The  author  was  a  sober,  industrious  young 
man,  just  out  of  the  high  school,  and  bore 
a  first-class  reputation  for  honesty.  He  had 
never  been  in  Virginia,  where  the  scene  of 
his  story  was  laid,  and  they  had  no  library 
in  Dillville;  and  our  detective  assured  us 
that  the  young  man  was  in  every  way  fitted 
to  write  a  historical  novel. 

"  The  Crimson  Cord  "  made  an  immense 
success.  You  can  guess  how  it  boomed  when 
I  say  that,  although  it  was  published  at  a 
dollar  and  a  half,  it  was  sold  by  every  depart- 
ment store  for  fifty-four  cents,  away  below 

[  H4] 


The  Adventure  of  the  Crimson  Cord 

cost,  just  like  sugar,  or  Vandeventer's  Baby 
Food,  or  Q  &  Z  Corsets,  or  any  other  staple. 
We  sold  our  first  edition  of  five  million  copies 
inside  of  three  months,  and  got  out  another 
edition  of  two  million,  and  a  specially 
illustrated  holiday  edition,  and  an  "  edition  de 
luxe ;  "  and  "  The  Crimson  Cord  "  is  still 
selling  in  paper-covered  cheap  edition. 

With  the  royalties  received  from  the  after- 
math and  the  profit  on  the  book  itself,  we 
made  —  well,  Perkins  has  a  country  place 
at  Lakewood,  and  I  have  my  cottage  at  New- 
port. 


[115] 


VIII 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  PRINCESS  OF 

PILLIWINK 

QERKINS  slammed  the  five- 
o'clock  edition  of  the  Chicago 
"  Evening  Howl "  into  the 
waste-paper  basket,  and  trod 
it  down  with  the  heel  of  his 
Go-lightly  rubber-sole  shoe. 
"Rot!"  he  cried.  "Tommy  rot!  Fid- 
dlesticks!   Trash!" 

I  looked  up  meekly.  I  had  seldom  seen 
Perkins  angry,  and  I  was  abashed.  He  saw 
my  expression  of  surprise;  and,  like  the 
great  man  he  is,  he  smiled  sweetly  to  reas- 
sure me. 

"  Diamonds  again,"  he  explained.  "  Same 
old  tale.  Georgiana  De  Vere,  leading  lady, 
diamonds  stolen.  Six  thousand  four  hun- 
dred and  tenth  time  in  the  history  of  the 
American    stage    that    diamonds    have    been 

stolen.    If  I  couldn't  —  " 

[  H6] 


Adventure  of  Princess  of  Pilliwink 

"  But  you  could,  Perkins,"  I  cried,  eagerly. 
"  You  would  not  have  to  use  the  worn-out 
methods  of  booming  a  star.  In  your  hands 
theatrical  advertising  would  become  fresh, 
virile,  interesting.  A  play  advertised  by  the 
brilliant,  original,  great  —  " 

"  Illustrious,"  Perkins  suggested. 

"  Illustrious  Perkins  of  Portland,"  I  said, 
bowing  to  acknowledge  my  thanks  for  the 
word  I  needed,  "  would  conquer  America. 
It  would  fill  the  largest  theatres  for  season 
after  season.    It  would  —  " 

Perkins  arose  and  slapped  his  "  Air-the- 
Hair  "  hat  on  his  head,  and  hastily  slid  into 
his  "  ready-tailored "  overcoat.  Without 
waiting  for  me  to  finish  my  sentence  he 
started  for  the  door. 

"  It  would  —  "I  repeated,  and  then,  just 
as  he  was  disappearing,  I  called,  "  Where 
are  you  going  ?  " 

He  paused  in  the  hall  just  long  enough 
to  stick  his  head  into  the  room. 

"Good    idea!"    he    cried,    "great    idea! 

No  time  to  be  lost!     Perkins  the  Great  goes 

to  get  the  play!  " 

He  banged  the  door,  and  I  was  left  alone. 

[117] 


Perkins  of  Portland 

That  was  the  way  Perkins  did  things.  Not 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  for  Perkins  needed 
no  spur.  He  was  full  of  spurs.  He  did  things 
in  the  heat  of  genius.  He  might  have  used 
as  his  motto  those  words  that  he  originated, 
and  that  have  been  copied  so  often  since 
by  weak  imitators  of  the  great  man :  "  Don't 
wait  until  to-morrow;  do  it  to-day.  To- 
morrow you  may  be  dead."  He  wrote  that 
to  advertise  coffins,  and  —  well,  Li  Hung 
Chang  and  Sara  Bernhardt  are  only  two 
of  the  people  who  took  his  advice,  and  lay 
in  their  coffins  before  they  had  to  be  laid  in 
them. 

I  knew  Perkins  would  have  the  whole 
affair  planned,  elaborated,  and  developed 
before  he  reached  the  street;  that  he  would 
have  the  details  of  the  plan  complete  before 
he  reached  the  corner;  and  that  he  would 
have  figured  the  net  profit  to  within  a  few 
dollars  by  the  time  he  reached  his  destina- 
tion. 

I  had  hardly  turned  to  my  desk  before  my 
telephone  bell  rang.  I  slapped  the  receiver 
to  my  ear.    It  was  Perkins ! 

"  Pilly,"    he    said.      "  Pilly    willy.      Pilly 

[118] 


Adventure  of  Princess  of  Pilliwink 

willy  winkum.  Pilliwink!  That's  it.  Pilli- 
wink,  Princess  of.  Write  it  down.  The 
Princess  of  Pilliwink.    Good-by." 

I  hung  up  the  receiver. 

"  That  is  the  name  of  the  play,"  I  mused. 
"  Mighty  good  name,  too.  Full  of  mean- 
ing, like  '  shout  Zo-Zo  '  and  '  Paskala  ' 
and  —  " 

The  bell  rang  again. 

"  Perkins's  performers.  Good-by,"  came 
the  voice  of  my  great  friend. 

"Great!"  I  shouted,  but  Perkins  had 
already  rung  off. 

He  came  back  in  about  half  an  hour  with 
four  young  men  in  tow. 

"  Good  idea,"  I  said,  "  male  quartettes 
always  take  well." 

Perkins  waved  his  hand  scornfully.  Perkins 
could  do  that.  He  could  do  anything,  could 
Perkins.  "  Quartette  ?  No,"  he  said,  "  the 
play."  He  locked  the  office  door,  and  put 
the  key  in  his  pocket.  "  The  play  is  in  them," 
he  said,  "  and  they  are  in  here.  They  don't 
get  out  until  they  get  the  play  out." 

He  tapped  the  long-haired  young  man 
on  the  shoulder. 

[  119] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"  Love  lyrics,"  he  said,  briefly. 

The  thin  young  man  with  a  sad  counte- 
nance he  touched  on  the  arm  and  said, 
"  Comic  songs,"  and  pointing  to  the  youth 
who  wore  the  baggiest  trousers,  he  said, 
"  Dialogue."  He  did  not  have  to  tell  me 
that  the  wheezy  little  German  contained 
the  music  of  our  play.  I  knew  it  by  the  way 
he  wheezed. 

Perkins  swept  me  away  from  my  desk, 
and  deposited  one  young  man  there,  and 
another  at  his  desk.  The  others  he  gave 
each  a  window-sill,  and  to  each  of  the  four 
he  handed  a  pencil  and  writing-pad. 

"  Write !  "  he  said,  and  they  wrote. 

As  fast  as  the  poets  finished  a  song,  they 
handed  it  to  the  composer,  who  made  suita- 
ble music  for  it.  It  was  good  music  —  it  all 
reminded  you  of  something  else.  If  it  wasn't 
real  music,  it  was  at  least  founded  on  fact. 

The  play  did  not  have  much  plot,  but  it 

had  plenty  of  places  for  the  chorus  to  come 

in   in   tights   or   short   skirts  —  and   that   is 

nine-tenths  of  any  comic  opera.     I  knew  it 

was  the  real  thing  as  soon  as  I  read  it.    The 

dialogue  was  full  of  choice  bits  like,  — 

[  120] 


Adventure  of  Princess  of  Pilliwink 

"  So  you  think  you  can  sing  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  used  to  sing  in  good  old  boy- 
hood's hour." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  sing  it  ?  " 

"  Sing  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  ■ In  Good  Old  Boyhood's  Hour,'  " 
and  then  he  would  sing  it. 

The  musical  composer  sang  us  some  of 
the  lyrics,  just  to  let  us  see  how  clever  they 
were;  but  he  wheezed  too  much  to  do  them 
justice.  He  admitted  that  they  would  sound 
better  if  a  pretty  woman  with  a  swell  cos- 
tume and  less  wheeze  sang  them. 

The  plot  of  the  play  —  it  was  in  three 
acts  —  was  original,  so  far  as  there  was  any 
plot.  The  Princess  of  Pilliwink  loved  the 
Prince  of  Guam;  but  her  father,  the  leading 
funny  man,  and  King  of  Pilliwink,  wanted 
her  to  marry  Gonzolo,  an  Italian,  because 
Gonzolo  owned  the  only  hand-organ  in  the 
kingdom.  To  escape  this  marriage,  the 
Princess  disguised  herself  as  a  Zulu  maiden, 
and  started  for  Zululand  in  an  automobile. 
The  second  act  was,  therefore,  in  Zululand, 
with  songs  about  palms  and  a  grand  cake- 
walk    of    Amazons,    who    captured    another 

[  121  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


Italian  organ-grinder.  At  the  request  of 
the  princess,  this  organ-grinder  was  thrown 
into  prison.  In  the  third  act  he  was  discov- 
ered to  be  the  Prince  of  Guam,  and  every- 
thing ended  beautifully. 

Perkins  paid  the  author  syndicate  spot 
cash,  and  unlocked  the  door  and  let  them 
go.  He  did  not  want  any  royalties  hanging 
over  him.  "  Ah!  "  he  said,  as  soon  as  they 
were  out  of  sight. 

We  spent  the  night  editing  the  play. 
Neither  Perkins  nor  I  knew  anything  about 
plays,  but  we  did  our  best.  We  changed 
that  play  from  an  every-day  comic  opera 
into  a  bright  and  sparkling  gem.  Anything 
that  our  author  syndicate  had  omitted  we 
put  in.  I  did  the  writing  and  Perkins  dic- 
tated to  me.  We  put  in  a  disrobing  scene, 
in  which  the  Princess  was  discovered  in  pain, 
and  removed  enough  of  her  dress  to  allow 
her  to  place  a  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plaster 
between  her  shoulders,  after  which  she  sang 
the  song  beginning,  — 

"  Now  my  heart  with  rapture  thrills, " 

only  we  changed  it  to :  — 

"  Now  my  back  with  rapture  thrills." 

[  122] 


Adventure  of  Princess  of  Pillkcink 

That  song  ended  the  first  act;  and  when 
the  opera  was  played,  we  had  boys  go  up 
and  down  the  aisles  during  the  intermission 
selling  Perkins's  Patent  Porous  Plasters, 
on  which  the  words  and  music  of  the  song 
were  printed.    It  made  a  great  hit. 

The  drinking  song  —  every  opera  has  one 
—  we  changed  just  a  little.  Instead  of  tin 
goblets  each  singer  had  a  box  of  Perkins's 
Pink  Pellets;  and,  as  they  sang,  they  touched 
boxes  with  each  other,  and  swallowed  the 
Pink  Pellets.  It  was  easy  to  change  the  song 
from 

"  Drain  the  red  wine-cup  — 
Each  good  fellow  knows 
The  jolly  red  wine-cup 
Will  cure  all  his  woes  " 

to  the  far  more  moral  and  edifying  verse,  — 

"  Eat  the  Pink  Pellet, 
For  every  one  knows 
That  Perkins's  Pink  Pellets 
Will  cure  all  his  woes." 

When  Perkins  had  finished  touching  up 
that  opera,  it  was  not  such  an  every-day 
opera  as  it  had  been.    He  put  some  life  into  it. 

I  asked  him  if  he  didn't  think  he  had  given 

[  1^3  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


it  a  rather  commercial  atmosphere  by  in- 
troducing the  Porous  Plaster  and  the  Pink 
Pellets,  but  he  only  smiled  knowingly. 

"Wait!"  he  said,  "wait  a  week.  Wait 
until  Perkins  circulates  himself  around  town. 
Why  should  the  drama  be  out  of  date  ?  Why 
avoid  all  interest  ?  Why  not  have  the  opera 
teem  with  the  life  of  the  day  ?    Why  not  ?  " 

He  laid  one  leg  gently  over  the  arm  of 
his  chair  and  tilted  his  hat  back  on  his  head. 

"  Literature,  art,  drama,"  he  said,  "  the 
phonographs  of  civilization.  Where  is  the 
brain  of  the  world  ?  In  literature,  art,  and 
the  drama.  These  three  touch  the  heart- 
strings; these  three  picture  mankind;  these 
three  teach  us.     They  move  the  world." 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  Perkins.  "  But  why 
is  the  drama  weak  ?  Why  no  more  Shake- 
speares  ?  Why  no  more  Molieres  ?  Because 
the  real  life-blood  of  to-day  isn't  in  the  drama. 
What  is  the  life-blood  of  to-day  ?  " 

I  thought  he  meant  Perkins's  Pink  Pel- 
lets, so  I  said  so. 

"No!"  he  said,  "advertising!  The  ad. 
makes  the  world  go  round.       Why  do  our 

[  124] 


Adventure  of  Princess  of  Pilliwink 

plays  fall  flat  ?  Not  enough  advertising. 
Of  them  and  in  them.  Take  literature.  See 
1  Bilton's  New  Monthly  Magazine.'  Sixty 
pages  reading;  two  hundred  and  forty  pages 
advertising;  one  million  circulation;  every- 
body likes  it.  Take  the  Bible  —  no  ads. ; 
nobody  reads  it.  Take  art ;  what's  famous  ? 
*  Gold  Dust  Triplets; '  *  Good  evening,  have 
you  used  Pear's  ?  '  Who  prospers  ?  The 
ad.  illustrator.  The  ad.  is  the  biggest 
thing  on  earth.  It  sways  nations.  It  wins 
hearts.  It  rules  destiny.  People  cry  for 
ads." 

"  That  is  true  enough,"  I  remarked. 

"  Why,"  asked  Perkins,  "  do  men  make 
magazines?  To  sell  ad.  space  in  them! 
Why  build  barns  and  fences  ?  To  sell  ad. 
space !  Why  run  street-cars  ?  To  sell  ad. 
space!  But  the  drama  is  neglected.  The 
poor,  lonely  drama  is  neglected.  In  ten 
years  there  will  be  no  more  drama.  The 
stage  will  pass  away." 

Perkins  uncoiled  his  legs  and  stood  up- 
right before  me. 

"  The    theatre    would    have    died    before 

now,"  he  said,   "  but  for  the  little  ad.  life 

[  125] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


it  has.  What  has  kept  it  alive  ?  A  few  ads. ! 
See  how  gladly  the  audience  reads  the  ads. 
in  the  programmes  when  the  actors  give 
them  a  little  time.  See  how  they  devour 
the  ad.  drop-curtain!  Who  first  saw  that 
the  ad.  must  save  the  stage  ?  Who  will  re- 
vive the  downtrod  theatrical  art  ?  " 

"  Perkins !"  I  cried.  "Perkins  will.  I 
don't  know  what  you  mean  to  do,  but  you 
will  revive  the  drama.  I  can  see  it  in  your 
eyes.    Go  ahead.    Do  it.     I  am  willing." 

I  thought  he  would  tell  me  what  he  meant 
to  do,  but  he  did  not.  I  had  to  ask  him. 
He  lifted  the  manuscript  of  the  opera  from 
the  table. 

"Sell  space!"  he  exclaimed.  "Perkins 
the  Originator  will  sell  space  in  the  greatest 
four-hour  play  in  the  world.  What's  a  barn  ? 
So  many  square  feet  of  ad.  space.  What's 
a  magazine  ?  So  many  pages  of  ad.  space. 
What's  a  play  ?  So  many  minutes  of  ad. 
space.  Price,  one  hundred  dollars  a  minute. 
Special  situations  in  the  plot  extra." 

I  did  not  know  just  what  he  meant,  but 
I  soon  learned.  The  next  day  Perkins  started 
out  with   the   manuscript   of   the   "  Princess 

[  126  ] 


Adventure  of  Princess  of  Pilliwink 


of  Pilliwink."  And  when  he  returned  in  the 
evening  he  was  radiant  with  triumph.  Every 
minute  of  available  space  had  been  sold, 
and  he  had  been  obliged  to  add  a  prologue 
to  accommodate  all  the  ads. 

The  "  Princess  of  Pilliwink "  had  some 
modern  interest  when  Perkins  was  through 
with  it.  It  did  not  take  up  time  with  things 
no  one  cared  a  cent  about.  It  went  right  to 
the  spot. 

There  was  a  Winton  Auto  on  the  stage 
when  the  curtain  rose,  and  from  then  until 
the  happy  couple  boarded  the  Green  Line 
Flyer  in  the  last  scene  the  interest  was  in- 
tense. There  was  a  shipwreck,  where  all 
hands  were  saved  by  floating  ashore  on  Ivory 
Soap,  —  it  floats,  —  and  you  should  have  heard 
the  applause  when  the  hero  laughed  in  the 
villain's  face  and  said,  "  Kill  me,  then.  I 
have  no  fear.  I  am  insured  in  the  Pru- 
dential Insurance  Company.  It  has  the 
strength  of  Port  Arthur." 

We  substituted  a  groanograph  —  the  kind 
that  hears  its  master's  voice  —  for  the  hand- 
organ  that  was  in  the  original  play,  and 
every    speech    and    song    brought    to    mind 

[  127  ] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


some    article    that    was    worthy   of    patron- 
age. 

The  first-night  audience  went  wild  with 
delight.  You  should  have  heard  them  cheer 
when  our  ushers  passed  around  post-cards 
and  pencils  between  the  acts,  in  order  that 
they  might  write  for  catalogues  and  samples 
to  our  advertisers.  Across  the  bottom  of 
each  card  was  printed,  "  I  heard  your 
advertisement  in  the  *  Princess  of  Pilli- 
winks " 

Run  ?  That  play  ran  like  a  startled  deer ! 
It  drew  such  crowded  houses  that  we  had 
to  post  signs  at  the  door  announcing  that  we 
would  only  sell  tickets  to  thin  men  and  women ; 
and  then  we  had  an  especially  narrow  opera 
chair  constructed,  so  that  we  were  able  to 
seat  ten  more  people  on  each  row. 

The  play  had  plenty  of  variety,  too.  Perkins 
had  thought  of  that.  He  sold  the  time  by 
the  month;  and,  when  an  ad.  expired,  he 
only  sold  the  space  to  a  new  advertiser. 
Thus  one  month  there  was  a  lullaby  about 
Ostermoor  mattresses,  —  the  kind  that  ad- 
vertises moth-eaten  horses  to  show  what  it 
isn't  made  of,  —  and  it  ran :  — 

[  128  ] 


Adventure  of  Princess  of  Pilliwink 

"  Bye,  oh  !    my  little  fairy, 
On  the  mattress  sanitary 
Sent  on  thirty  days'  free  trial 
Softly  sleep  and  sweetly  smile. 

"  Bye,  oh  !   bye  !   my  little  baby, 
Though  your  poor  dad  busted  may  be, 
Thirty  days  have  not  passed  yet, 
So  sleep  well,  my  little  pet." 

And  when  Perkins  sold  this  time  space 
the  next  month  to  the  makers  of  the  Fire- 
proof Aluminum  Coffin,  we  cut  out  the  lul- 
laby, and  inserted  the  following  cheerful 
ditty,  which  always  brought  tears  to  the  eyes 
of  the  audience :  — 

"  Screw  the  lid  on  tightly,  father, 
Darling  ma  has  far  to  go  ; 
She  must  take  the  elevator 
Up  above  or  down  below. 

"  Screw  the  lid  on  tightly,  father, 
Darling  ma  goes  far  to-night ; 
To  the  banks  of  rolling  Jordan, 
Or  to  realms  of  anthracite. 

"  Screw  the  lid  on  tightly,  father, 
Leave  no  chinks  for  heated  air, 
For  if  ma  is  going  one  place, 
There's  no  fire  insurance  there." 
[  129] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


You  can  see  by  this  how  different  the 
play  could  be  made  from  month  to  month. 
Always  full  of  sparkling  wit  and  clean, 
wholesome  humor  —  as  fresh  as  Uneeda 
Biscuit,  and  as  bright  as  a  Loftis-on-credit 
diamond.  Take  the  scene  where  the  Princess 
of  Pilliwink  sailed  away  to  Zululand  as  an 
example  of  the  variety  we  were  able  to  in- 
troduce. The  first  month  she  sailed  away 
on  a  cake  of  Ivory  Soap  —  it  floats ;  the  next 
month  she  sailed  on  an  Ostermoor  Felt  Mat- 
tress —  it  floats ;  and  then  for  a  month  she 
voyaged  on  the  floating  Wool  Soap;  and 
she  travelled  in  steam  motor-boats  and  elec- 
tric motor-boats;  by  Cook's  tours,  and  across 
the  ice  by  automobile,  by  kite,  and  on  the 
handle  of  a  Bissell  Carpet  Sweeper,  like  an 
up-to-date  witch.  She  used  every  known 
mode  of  locomotion,  from  skates  to  kites. 

She  was  a  grand  actress.  Her  name  was 
Bedelia  O'Dale;  and,  whatever  she  was  doing 
on  the  stage,  she  was  charming.  Whether 
she  was  taking  a  vapor  bath  in  a  $4.98  cabi- 
net or  polishing  her  front  teeth  with  Sozo- 
dont,  she  was  delightful.  She  had  all  the 
marks  of  a  real  lady,  and  gave  tone  to  the 

[  130  ] 


Adventure  of  Princess  of  Pilliwink 

whole  opera.  In  fact,  all  the  cast  was  good. 
Perkins  spared  no  expense.  He  got  the 
best  artists  he  could  find,  regardless  of  the 
cost;  and  it  paid.  But  we  nearly  lost  them 
all.  You  remember  when  we  put  the  play 
on  first,  in  1897,  —  the  good  old  days  when 
oatmeal  and  rolled  wheat  were  still  the  only 
breakfast  foods.  We  had  a  breakfast  scene, 
where  the  whole  troup  ate  oatmeal,  and 
pretended  they  liked  it.  That  scene  went 
well  enough  until  we  began  to  get  new  ads. 
for  it.  The  troup  never  complained,  no 
matter  how  often  he  shifted  them  from  oatmeal 
to  rolled  wheat  and  back  again.  They  always 
came  on  the  stage  happy  and  smiling,  and 
stuffed  themselves  with  Petti  Johns  and 
Mothers'  Oats,  and  carolled  merrily. 

But  about  the  time  the  twentieth  century 
dawned,  the  new  patent  breakfast  foods 
began  to  boom;  and  we  got  after  them  hot- 
foot. First  he  got  a  contract  from  Grape- 
nuts,  and  the  cast  and  chorus  had  to  eat 
Grape-nuts  and  warble  how  good  it  was. 

Perkins  was  working  up  the  Pink  Pellets 
then,  and  he  turned  the  Princess  of  Pilli- 
wink job  over  to  me. 

[131] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


If  Perkins  had  been  getting  the  ads.,  all 
would  still  have  been  well;  but  new  break- 
fast foods  cropped  up  faster  than  one  a  month, 
and  I  couldn't  bear  to  see  them  wait  their 
turn  for  the  breakfast  scene.  There  were 
Malta-Vita  and  Force  and  Try-a-Bita  and 
Cero-Fruto  and  Mapl-Flakes  and  Wheat- 
Meat,  and  a  lot  more;  and  I  signed  them  all. 
It  was  thoughtless  of  me.  I  admit  that  now, 
but  I  was  a  little  careless  in  those  days. 
When  our  reviser  revised  the  play  to  get 
all  those  breakfast  foods  in,  he  shook  his 
head.  He  said  the  audience  might  like  it, 
but  he  had  his  doubts  about  the  cast.  He 
said  he  did  not  believe  any  cast  on  earth 
could  eat  thirteen  consecutive  breakfast  foods, 
and  smile  the  smile  that  won't.  He  said  it 
was  easy  enough  for  him  to  write  thirteen 
distinct  lyrics  about  breakfast  foods,  but 
that  to  him  it  seemed  that  by  the  time  the 
chorus  had  downed  breakfast  food  number 
twelve,  it  would  be  so  full  of  oats,  peas, 
beans,  and  barley  that  it  couldn't  gurgle. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  he  was  right.  We  had 
a  pretty  tough-stomached  troup;  and  they 
might  have  been  able  to  handle  the  thirteen 

[  132  ] 


'Cv.v  >;.-<: --1  »'      :     -:■  ■'■       '<:•.-   •    .■•;        ,.if,-  t.'  '  ,     .yajw:      .'■-'■-  .  ••»>. -asKV.  >. ,« ■niS.MSS.'.'JS 


R!  •'Jo  'JJ 


I. 


13  MS 


MORE    LIKELY    TO    LOOK    UPON    THEM    WITH    COLD 

DISDAIN. 


Adventure  of  Princess  of  Pilliwink 

breakfast  foods,  especially  as  most  of  the 
foods  were  already  from  one-half  to  three- 
quarters  digested  as  they  were  sold,  but  we 
had  a  few  other  lunchibles  in  the  play  al- 
ready. 

That  year  the  ads.  were  running  princi- 
pally to  automobiles,  correspondence  schools, 
and  food  stuffs;  and  we  had  to  take  in  the 
food  stuffs  or  not  sell  our  space. 

As  I  look  back  upon  it,  I  cannot  blame  the 
cast,  although  I  was  angry  enough  at  the 
time.  When  a  high-bred  actress  has  eaten 
two  kinds  of  soup,  a  sugar-cured  ham,  self- 
rising  flour,  air-tight  soda  crackers,  three 
infant  foods,  two  patent  jellies,  fifty-seven 
varieties  of  pickles,  clam  chowder,  devilled 
lobster,  a  salad  dressing,  and  some  beef  ex- 
tract, she  is  not  apt  to  hanker  for  thirteen 
varieties  of  breakfast  food.  She  is  more 
likely  to  look  upon  them  with  cold  disdain. 
No  matter  how  good  a  breakfast  food  may 
be  by  itself  and  in  the  morning,  it  is  some- 
what unlovely  at  ten  at  night  after  devilled 
lobster  and  fifty-seven  varieties  of  pickles. 
At  the  sight  of  it  the  star,  instead  of  gaily 

carolling,  — 

[133] 


Perkins  of  Portland 


"  J°y  '   3°y  •   isn't  it  nice 
To  eat  Cook's  Flaked  Rice," 

is  apt  to  gag.  After  about  six  breakfast 
foods,  her  epiglottis  and  thorax  will  shut 
up  shop  and  begin  to  turn  wrong  side  out 
with  a  sickly  gurgle. 

The  whole  company  struck.  They  very 
sensibly  remarked  that  if  the  troup  had  to 
keep  up  that  sort  of  thing  and  eat  every 
new  breakfast  food  that  came  out,  the  things 
needed  were  not  men  and  women,  but  a 
herd  of  cows.  They  gave  me  notice  that 
they  one  and  all  intended  to  leave  at  the 
end  of  the  week,  and  that  they  positively 
refused  to  eat  anything  whatever  on  the  stage. 

I  went  to  Perkins  and  told  him  the  game 
was  up  —  that  it  was  good  while  it  lasted, 
but  that  it  was  all  over  now.  I  said  that 
the  best  thing  we  could  do  was  to  sell  our 
lease  on  the  theatre  and  cancel  our  ad.  con- 
tracts. 

But  not  for  a  moment  did  my  illustrious 
partner  hesitate.  The  moment  I  had  finished, 
he  slapped  me  on  the  shoulder  and  smiled. 

"  Great!  "  he  cried,  "  why  not  thought  of 

sooner  ?  " 

[134] 


Adventure  of  Princess  of  Pilliwink 

And,  in  truth,  the  solution  of  our  difficulty 
was  a  master  triumph  of  a  master  mind. 
It  was  simplicity  itself.  It  made  our  theatre 
so  popular  that  there  were  riots  every  night, 
so  eager  were  the  crowds  to  get  in. 

People  long  to  meet  celebrities.  If  they 
meet  an  actor,  they  are  happy  for  days  after. 
And  after  the  theatre  people  crave  some- 
thing to  eat.  Perkins  merely  combined  the 
two.  We  cut  out  the  eating  during  the  play, 
and  after  every  performance  our  actors  held 
a  reception  on  the  stage;  and  the  entire 
audience  was  invited  to  step  up  and  be  in- 
troduced to  Bedelia  O'Dale  and  the  others, 
and  partake  of  free  refreshments,  in  the 
form  of  sugar-cured  ham,  beef  extract,  fifty- 
seven  varieties  of  pickles,  and  thirteen  kinds 
of  breakfast  foods,  and  other  choice  viands. 


THE  END. 


[  135  ] 


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